Take My Heart Away
by Hatusu
Summary: Complete. Hermione goes back in time with one mission: to kill Tom Riddle before he comes to power. How hard can it be? Impossible, she realizes, as a love between them grows stronger than anything she's ever known. Now Hermione has a choice to make: Will
1. The End

((A.N. Welcome to _Take My Heart Away, _my newest, and, in my opinion,best, story. It's darker and certainly more complex than my other ones. I hope you all enjoy reading it as much as I enjoyed writing it. One more thing . . . quotes at the beginning of each chapter are extremely important. hint hint And, oh yeah, review! ;D))

Disclaimer: I do not, under any circumstances, own Harry Potter, (a wonderful woman named J.K. Rowling does, if any of you were wondering), and I'm not making any profit off of writing this story. The lyrics below are by AFI, from _Leaving Song, Part II._ Throughout the course of this story, there will be lyrics and quotes including but not limited to: AFI, Evanescence, Shakespeare, Plato, and Helen Keller. I do not own or claim to own any of the quotes in italics at the beginning of each chapter. Without any further ado . . .

_Break down_

_and cease all feeling._

_Burn now _

_what was once breathing._

_Reach out _

_and you may take my heart away. _

* * *

Prologue: Take My Heart Away 

Hermione gasped as a flash of blinding green light flew past her. She watched its procession across the forest clearing with a horrid fascination frozen in her tracks. Time seemed to slow as she witnessed the beam of light hit her best friend squarely in the chest. She did not even turn away when Harry Potter fell to the ground, his eyes already blank and lifeless.

The next thing that she was aware of was a high, freezing laughter that seemed to echo amongst the highest branches of the trees. The unmerciful cackle of a madman.

Hermione suddenly knew what it was that she had to do, and a numb coolness enveloped her insides. _It's the only way._

* * *

"It's the only way," Harry had said in a whisper, only a few hours before. His eyes, normally so full of light and determination, now held the fiery resolution often seen in the eyes of a condemned prisoner. 

Hermione gazed up at him, full of fearful uncertainty.

"But Harry, Dumbledore said . . ."

He cut her off with a sharp movement of his hand through the air.

"I know what Dumbledore said," he intoned in a severely strained voice. "'Don't fool around with time.' But I'm only asking you to do this if I - if I fail."

He looked at her, willing her to understand what he meant without having to explain.

"You won't fail, Harry. You can't," Hermione choked out.

"Dumbledore said ..."

"Dumbledore's gone!" Harry cried out, smashing his fist against the wall. When he saw the expression on her face, his whole presence seemed to sag with the fact that he was scaring her; scaring the only best friend he had left.

"I'm sorry," he murmured, not recognizing his own voice, "but like I said, Hermione: I have this – this certainty, almost, that something or someone made Voldemort who he is. Believe me, I know him, and I _know_ that he wasn't born as that horrible creature. If you could go back before that, you could kill him as easily as a normal human. And Hermione, if there's anyone – anyone at all – that I would trust to go back in time in place of me and make things right, it would be you."

He regarded her with an expression so full of the earnesty she had remembered in the old Harry that she was flushed with a sudden confidence.

"I'll do it,"Hermione had said solidly.

* * *

_I'll do it, _she thought. She decided that she was willing to do almost anything to reverse the horrifying events of the past weeks. 

The ghastly silence of the woods around her seemed to intensify with the onset of a slight mist. Moonlight fell like a veil across the soundless landscape. The only solidity in the eerie half-reality she faced were the trees, gnarled and lifeless, but solid all the same.

A slight shift in the mist ...

And Lord Voldemort himself had turned to face her. She realized, as if doused in freezing ice water, that she was the only one alive in the clearing, save the demon that stood before her. The mist momentarily obscured his face.

"Ah, the filthy Muggle-born that Potter adored so much," Voldemort spat, his ominous voice sending uncontrollable chills down her spine. She fumbled for the chain around her neck.

"Pity, I don't even know your name," he whispered with a terrible smile. Voldemort raised his wand.

At the same time, Hermione took hold of her time-turner. Instead of turning it over, as she usually would, she turned it to the left. Instead of going back hours, she was attempting to travel back decades. With the first twist, a jolt like lightning jarred her. Again she twisted it, as the eerie forest clearing began to fade from existence. She fixated a time in her mind, and concentrated on turning the instrument to her bidding. Every jolt jarred her harder and harder, until she flew through an indescribable vortex of memories, events, and places that she had not been alive to remember. The roaring in her head got louder, until it seemed to consume her every fiber. And after that: Blackness.

* * *

Tom Riddle gasped as he sat up in his bed. Caressing his temples, he tried hard to remember the dream he had woken up from. He was sure that it had not been one of the usual, ghastly nightmares that had plagued him for as long he could remember. This time it had been something utterly different, yet somehow more haunting than any nightmare. He remembered, or rather, imagined, a girl with large brown eyes and honey-colored hair, and a boy with a lightning-shaped scar. The girl was the one that had stood out, however. Her face, though, obviously average, was for some reason chillingly beautiful to him. Quickly, he belittled himself for thinking such inconsequential thoughts. _Dreams are nothing but poison to the mind, _he reminded himself sternly. 

For some reason, this did not comfort him much. _Am I seeing things? Am I going crazy?_

((A.N. So? What do you think is going to happen? Tell me in a review!))


	2. Midnight Eyes

((A.N. Chapter 1. In which Hermione runs into Tom Riddle. This story is just getting started, believe me. I'd like to thank everyone who reviewed last time. I got far more feedback for the first chapter than I thought I would. Thanks to **Zaralya**, **tearsthatfall**, **Alora55**, **EuphoniumGirl10**(welcome back!), **sheelfhunnie**, **Miss Cleo**, **Deepseadolphin,**and **Loriliant Angelisa Snape**(I'm soglad you like it! exhales):DBut most of all, a huge thank you to Drama Shethan, my beta reader! I don't know what I'd do without you! Without further ado, then.))

_We can easily forgive a child that is afraid of the dark. The real tragedy in life is when **men** are afraid of the light. _

_– Plato_

* * *

Chapter 1

When Tom Riddle woke up the next morning, his strange dream was one of the last things on his mind. Being Head Boy, Tom had his own dormitory – along with a private bathroom. That was one of the reasons that he had wanted to be Head Boy in the first place; he preferred solitude to company at all times. There were times, though, when being alone with his own thoughts was almost too unbearable to handle. He took a shower; freezing, as always, since warm water never reached the dungeons.

Tom considered the goals he had in mind for the day. He had to begin planning the horrendous Halloween Feast he had been assigned to, wheedle Rhion Malfoy into giving him potions supplies, finish reading the book on Legilimency that Professor Tunistra had loaned him, and perform the advanced memory charm on Gregory Longbottom that he had forgotten to do the previous night. That was on top of regular homework, studying for the N.E.W.Ts, and Quidditch. But regular schoolwork had long since become boring and copious to Tom. After all, he easily ranked number one in every subject in the entire school, his teachers all gave him advanced work to do, and, though they did not realize it, he breezed through that as well.

Perhaps it had been boredom that had driven Tom to begin studying the only kind of magic that he did not know. Perhaps it had been something else. Dark magic was easily the most complicated form of magic, and Tom found himself fascinated by it. He had attracted a group of followers, in a way, and they had begun having weekly meetings to study forbidden magic and learn from him.

He made his way up to the Great Hall to take some breakfast and took his usual place at the Slytherin table. Many of his housemates nodded to him as he passed by. 'Friendship' was not a word he would use to describe his relationship with any of them. Most just respected him – in a fearful sort of way. Besides, Slytherins did not make friends. They made political alliances.

As Tom was talking quietly with Rhion Malfoy, he felt a probing gaze upon his back, and knew immediately who it belonged to. Ever since he had gotten little Rubeus Hagrid expelled in his fifth year, Dumbledore had been keeping a close watch on him. Albus Dumbledore was the only person at Hogwarts that seemed to see right through Tom's convincing facade. To the other professors, Tom was an earnest teenager, an ambitious young man, and an outstanding pupil. Only Dumbledore seemed to realize that he was something far, far more dangerous.

As Tom made his way to his first class, he felt a different pair of eyes on him, though he did not know whose they were. He spun around, certain that someone was right behind him. He saw a flash of brown disappear around a corner, but did not bother following it. However, it did make him wonder which one of Hogwart's students had the nerve to follow him around. Had he remembered his dream from the night before, he might have been able to put the pieces together.

* * *

Hermione ducked down a corridor as Tom whirled around, drawing in a silent breath of caution. She decided that following him definitely was not going to work for much longer. _He has eyes on the back of his head, damn him! _

Hermione had barely recognized Tom when she had first seen him. Now, at the age of seventeen, Tom had thick, dark hair that contrasted beautifully with his pale skin. He was tall and lean, and walked with a dangerous grace that reminded her intensely of Draco Malfoy. He had strong, high cheekbones and a firmly set jaw, but his eyes were by far his most intense characteristic. Hermione could think of no other color to describe them but liquid midnight, with subtle flecks of dark blue. Had he not mercilessly murdered one of her best friends only hours before she had seen him, Hermione would have found him hauntingly attractive. The only way she had even suspected that he was the same person as Lord Voldemort was by his abnormally long, thin fingers. Even then, she had had to hear someone call out his name before she had convinced herself.

Unfortunately, Hermione had warped herself back to the first day of term at Hogwarts. She had meant to go back even further, but had missed her mark by a few years. She approximated that she had arrived in 1944, though she could not be sure. She had woken up sprawled out in the clearing in the Forbidden Forest. The same clearing she had been in when Voldemort had killed Harry. She did not know what the effects would be of warping so far back in time, only that Dumbledore had told her never, under any circumstances, to do it. She had decided to walk up to the school and see if she could find Voldemort - _Tom!_ she kept reminding herself - and follow him around. Now that she had successfully warped herself fifty years into the past, she had no notion of what to do, only that she had to somehow kill Tom Riddle. Though Hermione remembered using the Time Turner to warp herself back, she did not recall how she had specifically arrived, and decided that she must have blacked out.

Now, Hermione needed some place to think, since she had no further plan. She was absolutely blown away by the fact that she was in a time more than thirty years before she would be born. It both amazed her and terrified her. Here, nothing was certain.

She decided to walk up to the Astronomy Tower, since everyone was presently in class. As far as Hermione knew, no one had seen her yet. She had been manipulating time long enough to understand that as long as she went unnoticed, nothing in the pattern of time would change. Once she was seen, however, she had the tools and the capability to change past and present events. Dumbledore had also told her that she saw never to be seen_. One moment, one glitch in time, Miss Granger, is all that it takes to change a man's future, and perhaps the future of the entire world._

She reached the Astronomy Tower, and glanced out of the large bay window on the north side of the tower. Far below, she saw a large, hairy boy of about fifteen tramping across the grounds. She was reminded immediately of . . . _Hagrid!_ She grinned at finally seeing a familiar face.

Hermione sat down and held her head in her hands. She knew what it was that she had to do, only had no idea of how to go about doing it. She had to murder Tom Riddle, to put it shortly_. No, _she thoughtangrily,_ I have to murder the evil, vile creature that will kill my best friends if I don't kill him first._ That made it sound easier.

Truth be told, Hermione was terrified. She had already meddled with time once before, and she and Harry had barely escaped_. This time, I don't even have Harry,_ she thought desolately. She was terrified by the fact that in the future, Harry, Ron, her parents, and possibly everyone she had loved was dead. She was equally terrified by the fact that their lives, along with the lives of countless others, now rested in her hands.

Being the logical girl that she was, Hermione decided that there were two ways to fulfill her task. The first was to stay hidden in the shadows, watching him and waiting for the perfect time to strike. As it was, though, he had already proved almost impossible to follow, and Hermione did not know how long it would take to get him alone and vulnerable. If that time was more than a few days from now, she did not know where she would get food or sleep, and she was not sure if she could stay hidden. The second option involved something she had always done when she had had problems. Go to Dumbledore. Tell him everything that had happened, or rather, everything that would happen, and hope that he believed her. Perhaps he would even be able to assist her in killing Tom Riddle. Dumbledore had always known exactly what to do in times of crisis.

Standing up, Hermione decided that going to Dumbledore was definitely the better option. She paused, though, as she found a bit of glitch in her plan. Time was an odd thing, and had a way of coming around full circle. Why hadn't the Dumbledore of the future known Hermione, if she had indeed gone back in time? With a start, she remembered something that he had once told her in private.

_You remind me very much of someone I once knew, Miss Granger. _

Was it just a coincidence, or had Dumbledore from the future really seen her before?

Making up her mind, she took her wand out of her pocket. Drawing a deep breath, Hermione prepared herself to do something she had promised herself that she would never do. _This is different. This is important. _

"Rectus Capillus," she whispered, feeling the hair rearrange on her scalp. Next she said, "Occulus Apparo," and a pair of thin glasses appeared in her palm. She put them on, and turned to the window. She yelped and leapt back in surprise. _Is that . . . me? _

Straight locks of honey brown had replaced her slightly bushy, curly hair and the pair of glasses that she wore made her eyes look sharper. She looked more put together, and, if it was possible, a little bit older. That, and she could barely recognize herself. She looked like a completely different person. She grimaced. _I hate this. I feel like Parvati and Lavender before the Yule Ball._

Feeling awkward, she set off for Dumbledore's office determinedly. When she reached the stone statue of the gargoyle, she nervously flattened her hair and straightened her glasses. Did she look different enough?

"Chocolate Frog," she said hopefully, before remembering that Dumbledore liked Muggle candy.

"Erm . . . Mars Bar! No, Lemon Drop!"

"I'm quite fond of those, if I do say so myself," a voice from behind said clearly. Hermione whirled around to face a young, auburn-haired Albus Dumbledore. "Headmaster Dippet refuses to try them, though. I don't know how many times I've offered him one," Dumbledore continued, as if nothing out of the ordinary was happening.

Headmaster? How could she have forgotten? Dumbledore had not become Headmaster until after his defeat of Grindelwald.

"May I ask your name, young lady? And, if it isn't too rude, what brings you here?"

"I'm Helen Nestowe, Sir," Hermione invented quickly, straightening her shoulders like she always did when talking to authority. Suddenly the pit of her stomach dropped, and telling Dumbledore about her mission seemed like a terrible idea. He was more likely to think her insane than to believe a rambling story that included a Dark Lord and a time turner. And consent to murdering one of his own students? Dumbledore would never, under any circumstances, agree to that. Quickly, she tried to think of some half-believable reason for being there.

"I want to enrol in Hogwarts, actually," she finished quickly. _Enrol in Hogwarts? Couldn't I think of anything better?_

"Is that so, Miss . . . Nestowe?" Dumbledore asked, apparently to look at her for the first time. Hermione did not miss the calculating look in his eyes at all. "I'm not sure that is possible, being as old as you are. Tell me, how did you find your way here? Do you have any magical background?"

Hermione paused. How could she explain the six years of magical training she had already had? How could she explain how she had arrived there at all? Her mind began working frantically.

Fortunately, she was spared answering immediately by a new arrival. She almost gasped as a boy walked around the corner. The one person she had been trying to evade, and the one person she was also trying to kill. Tom Riddle.

((A.N. Will Hermione be able to kill Tom Riddle _and _get back to the future? How will they react when they meet each other? Tell me what you think with a review.))


	3. Helen Nestowe of Germany

((A.N. Chapter 2. If you haven't noticed, I update every five days on the dot. Anyhow, I have a lot of people to thank. This story is getting so much more response than I ever expected! Yay! Thank you to **EuphoniumGurl10, Miss Cleo, Loriliant Angelisa Snape, angel locket, Ramones4me** (I'm glad you like it!), **Black--rose23, **and **kokoyumyumxox.** Special notes: **Ashu, **no, none of this story will be rated R, though some chapters will come close. ;D **Catelina, **you are on to something with that quote you said was significant, believe it or not. And a big thank you to **WhillenWolf, **who read this story in it's early stages of creation and helped me out with almost the whole thing! You're great! And, of course, **DramaShethan. **What would I do without you? This author's note is now entirely too long, so I'll shut up. Enjoy!))

_Those who cannot **remember** the past are **condemned** to repeat it._

_-George Santayana_

* * *

Chapter 2– 

"Mr. Riddle," Dumbledore said, checking his wristwatch.

"You weren't in your classroom when I came for my lessons, Sir, so I thought you might be here," Tom said carefully. He glanced at Hermione, and an unreadable expression passed through his dark eyes. Hermione immediately noticed he had a presence that almost matched Dumbledore's calm and confident demeanor.

"My, the time must've slipped away. I came to see Dippet and I didn't realize that you were coming for lessons so soon. Forgive me."

"Of course, Sir!" Tom said, not rudely, but far from politely. Hermione sensed an odd undercurrent in their words, a strained sort of tension that radiated from both of them.

"Let's postpone the lesson until this afternoon, shall we?"

"That's fine, Sir," Tom said, showing no emotion. With that, he walked away. Someone with not as keen an eye as Dumbledore's would have missed Tom's fleeting glance at Hermione.

Dumbledore turned back to her.

"Sir, I'd like to see Headmaster Dippet," Hermione said firmly, before he could drill her with any more questions. She had decided that Dumbledore was far too hard to fool. She did not know what Headmaster Dippet was like, but he could not possibly be more shrewd than Dumbledore.

"This way, then," Dumbledore said after a moment. Hermione got the impression that he had been doing some serious thinking. Hesitantly, she followed him past the gargoyle statue and into Dippet's office.

* * *

As Tom walked away from Dumbledore and rounded the corner, he felt an odd shiver roll down his spine. _That was the girl from the dream. I'm sure of it, _he thought. She had seemed almost identical to the girl, with some slight changes. Straighter hair, perhaps? But the same eerie beauty that seemed to chill his insides. 

Angrily, he pushed the girl and his dreams out of his mind. He wondered wryly if Dumbledore had been making excuses to skip Transfiguration lessons, if you could call them that. Although Dumbledore refused to admit it, the 'lessons' had become a private match of wits between the two of them, since Tom had almost reached Dumbledore's level of capability on the subject.

Tom had an odd relationship with Dumbledore, to say the least. In a way, Dumbledore was the only person at Hogwarts that Tom had any amount of respect for. Much as Tom hated to admit it, Dumbledore was the kind of man that made a room fall silent merely with his presence. He was the kind of man that could make strangers obey him with the snap of his fingers. In a way, Dumbledore was Tom's role model. He was the kind of man Tom himself aspired to be.

At the same time, Dumbledore represented everything that Tom was adamantly opposed to. Dumbledore had such cut and dried ideas about good and evil, about rejection and acceptance. 'Good' and 'evil' were nonexistent to Tom. They were vague, unspecific names that people put to things to make themselves feel better about their actions. Whatever benefitted him the most was his idea of 'good'. As for acceptance and rejection? Why should he openly accept Muggles and Muggle-borns, a race of people that had rejected him all of his life? In the Muggle world, he had been nothing but a 'street-rat,' an orphan, a boy who would never make anything out of his life. He hated Muggles more than he could say.

Tom laughed bitterly, for that was not of consequence now. He had long ago rid himself of emotions that normal humans felt. Where pain, joy, and sadness were supposed to be, there was a large void that consumed everything surrounding it. He had not done it with magic, because unfortunately, there was no magic that could take away his heart. Due to his time at the Muggle orphanage, his difficult beginning years at Hogwarts, and the fact that he had never really been accepted anywhere, he had learned to numb himself of all emotion, save anger and occasional satisfaction. Everything else didn't hit him with full impact; when he was praised, belittled, or insulted, he felt only a dull blow. Packing his heart in ice was the only defense mechanism he had.

That was why the girl in his dream had thrown him off balance. He had felt a moment's attraction to her, but that moment was past now, and he could go back to living the indifference that he cherished so closely.

* * *

Headmaster Dippet peered over his stack of parchment at the girl sitting confidently before him. 

"Miss Nestowe . . . you say that you've been to six years of wizarding school in Germany?"

"Yes, sir, to Frau Brunhilds Hoher Schule der Zauberei!"

Dumbledore, who was sitting on Dippet's left, put in quickly, "May I acquire as to why you don't have a German accent, Miss Nestowe?"

"Well, my family lived in England until I was ten or so, and then my father moved us to Germany for work purposes. Now we're back in England, you see, so I never really picked up an accent," she finished, as if eager to divulge information. Apparently, even Dumbledore was fooled by her confident surface. Inside, her heart was pounding uncontrollably. She found she hated lying to Dumbledore more than anything she had ever done. It twisted her insides into lumpy knots, but it would do no good to tell the truth. _'Yes, Headmaster Dippet, I've come here to murder your best student. Will that be a problem?'_

Dippet smiled and said, "Well, Miss Nestowe, I'm pleased to tell you that from the magical tests we've performed on you, you are more than capable of attending our school. I just can't figure out why we overlooked you in the first place. I daresay you're one of the most brilliant witches since –"

"Armando, I must question your hasty decision on this matter. Perhaps there was a _reason_ we overlooked her, and pardon me, Miss, but it seems a bit suspicious that –"

"Nonsense, Albus!" Dippet said arrogantly, waving his hand. "Can't you see the girl is telling the truth? The Sorting Hat said she was to be in Gryffindor, and has it ever been wrong? Besides, with a seventh year witch this brilliant, we'll have two of the finest students this school has ever seen! Imagine the funding that the Ministry will . . ." with a slight flush, he glanced at Dumbledore before continuing, " . . . well . . . erm . . . aside from that . . . you've been accepted to Hogwarts, Helen Nestowe!"

Hermione pasted a smile on her face, and turned to leave with an, "I'm honored, Sir." She had been told she was to move in with the seventh year Gryffindor girls, and had that on her mind as she descended the staircase.

"Miss Nestowe? May I have a private word?" Hermione turned to see Dumbledore's figure poised on the staircase above her.

His expression was deadly serious as he said, "I do not wish to go against Headmaster Dippet's wishes, but by all means, when you tell me what you are really doing here, I will be ready to listen. Until then, I daresay I'll be keeping a very close watch on you."

Hermione opened her mouth to say something, but found it frozen in that position. _How has he . . . ? _

"Good day to you," he finished with a smile, and turned away calmly.

* * *

Dumbledore watched the antics of the Great Hall from his position next to Headmaster Dippet. 

Helen Nestowe, or so she called herself, kept nervously flattening her hair at the Gryffindor table. She seemed to have made friends quickly with the Gryffindor seventh years, although she only spoke when spoken to, and did not seem to mind eating in silence.

Tom, on the other hand, was surrounded by a knot of Slytherins and a few Ravenclaws. Tom had barely touched his food, and was talking quietly but rapidly. Everyone was listening far more attentively to him than they did to any of the Professors in class.

Dumbledore feared that Tom had gained too much power over his fellow students. The students obviously found him charming, witty, and shrewd, but felt comfortable around him, like he was an equal and not a superior. He constantly defied authority, and often bested the Professors, which, Dumbledore noted wryly, was another reason the students idolized him so much.

It was possible that Dumbledore was the only one who saw another side in Tom. Not only was he witty, shrewd, and charming, but he also had an amazing amount of ambition, cunning, and bottled up hatred. All of the qualities he possessed, and the fact that Dumbledore was positive he had opened the Chamber of Secrets two years ago, made him potentially the most dangerous wizard in the world.

To the contrary, Helen Nestowe was brilliant, and although suspicious, hardly seemed a threat. Dumbledore wondered what might occur if Helen and Tom got to know each other.

Chuckling to himself, Dumbledore decided to alter Helen's class schedule to match Tom's, though first he managed to convince himself that he was doing it more for her intellectual benefit than for his own amusement.

Well, mostly.

((A.N. So? How did I do? Review!))


	4. Of All People

((A.N. Chapter 3. In which Hermione finally talks to Tom Riddle! It's taken a while to get here, hasn't it, lol? Thank you to my reviewers, I am glad that you all like it. Thank you to **Loriliant Angelisa Snape**(quite a compliment!), **Black-rose23** (you have no idea how ironic your name is. Keep reading and you'll see why!), **EuphoniumGurl0**, **Hell's Roses** (your name too, come to think of it .. . ;D), **Catelina** (thanks!), **Pprincess17**, **Satanik06**, **Serena**, **Lady Evanescence**, **Ramones4me**, **Magic and Sparkle**, **whillenwolf**, and **Silver Gaze**. Thanks to my beta DramShethan, as always. ;D Read and enjoy, people!))

_A preoccupation with the future not only prevents us from seeing the present as it is but often prompts us to rearrange the past._

_– Eric Hoffer_

* * *

Chapter 3– Of All People 

Hermione's mouth dropped open as she looked at her classes the next morning. First block was Advanced NEWT-level Potions with the Slytherins, and after that was Theoretical Charms, one of the hardest classes offered at Hogwarts. After lunch was regular Transfiguration, and her only evening class was Pallarax Astronomy, a course that involved a great deal of complicated Muggle math. Her second day's classes were just as difficult, and included Honors Divination, which she had dropped in third year and knew absolutely nothing about.

Hermione had made a resolution to herself that here, she would not be the best. In fact, she would appear dull and agreeable, as not to draw unneeded attention to herself. The less people noticed her, the less she would change the course of time. _The only reason I am here, _she reminded herself, _is to have an excuse to stay at Hogwarts. I'll get rid of Tom soon, and I'll be the best when I get back . . ._

_If I do get back. _

A panic had been slowly swelling in her chest since she had arrived, but in the whirl of things, she had pushed it down. How would she get back? Or rather, forward? When she had used the time turner before, she had only gone back hours, and had arrived precisely at the place she had started. Hermione had a growing fear that she would never get to go forward, and would see Harry and Ron again as a crippled old lady, and they would not recognize the girl they had known for most of their lives . . .

_No! _She said to herself, heavy tears pricking her eyes. _I'll do it, I don't care if it has never been done. I'll find a way to go forward._

"Helen!" She looked up sharply, blinking the tears away, to see Emma O'Leary, a sharp-tongued Gryffindor, standing before her. "You look upset! What's wrong?"

Hermione mentally slapped herself for letting her facade slip away so easily. She gave Emma a confident smile before saying, "Just first-day jitters, you know . . ."

Emma smiled knowingly. "It'll pass, don't worry. C'mon, it's time for Potions. With the Slytherins, too; they're repulsive. Us Gryffindors don't like them, by the way, they're a slimy lot . . ."

"Really? I never would've guessed," Hermione said through gritted teeth. They preceded to walk down to the dungeons with a group of Gryffindors. When they reached the usual iron door, Hermione was briefly surprised to see it pushed open not by Professor Snape, but by a balding man in blood red robes, who she learned was Professor Alonzin.

The Slytherins sauntered in shortly after, though late, Hermione noted, and class begun. Professor Alonzin talked quickly, and everyone except Tom Riddle took notes. He sat straight up in his seat, his eyes focused on a spot above the teacher's head. Hermione frowned, deciding that perhaps Voldemort had not paid much attention in school.

When it came time for brewing, the Slytherins were, as always, paired up with the Gryffindors. Hermione's head jerked up as she heard Professor Alonzin sat, "Nestowe? Ah, a new student. You'll be paired up with Riddle for now. He'll help you catch up."

"Lucky," Emma breathed in her ear as she moved to her potions station. Hermione frowned.

_Of all people! _She thought. How could she look someone in the eye who she was supposed to kill? How could she even work with him, talk to him?

She drew in a deep breath as he strode over and sat down casually next to her. _I don't want to hear your voice. I want nothing to do with you. _

Without saying a word, he began heating the water in the cauldron. A bit nervously, Hermione rifled through her notes. _I'm sitting next to Lord Voldemort. _She remembered then that she was supposed to be acting. "Okay, so we need . . . erm . . . Ced–"

"Cedar bark, Heart of Palm, and Grindylow scales, added one at a time on medium heat at 150 degrees, stirred clockwise nine times and counterclockwise thirty-two times at three and a half minute intervals. Just stay out of this. I'll do it," Tom said shortly.

Hermione stared at him, her mouth open, and then looked down at her notes again. It had taken Professor Alonzin thirty minutes to explain that potion, and Tom had done it in ten seconds, and without any notes. A bit of her competitive spirit flared at his words, however. She could not stop herself from saying, "No, really, I know how to do it. I'll help."

Tom looked at her dispassionately, but she found that she could not look him in the eye.

"I don't need some amateur Gryffindor to help me out. I told you. I don't care if you want to help or not."

Hermione's blood boiled.

"Amateur? I . . . I can brew this potion just as well as you! Just because you're a Slytherin doesn't mean that you're better at Potions!"

Tom laughed. It was a less intense version of the high, cold laugh that she knew so well, and she was instantly reminded of who she was with.

"You don't know who I am, do you?" Tom said, a coldly amused expression on his face.

_I wouldn't count on that, _Hermione thought angrily. _I know 'who you are' better than you do._

When she did not reply, Tom said, "You say you can brew this potion just as well as me? Be my guest, then."

He shoved the cauldron toward her and leaned back, watching her with that same cold expression.

"Fine," Hermione retorted angrily. She looked through her notes, carefully checking the ingredients. Besides the Polyjuice Potion she had brewed in second year, she had never attempted such a complicated potion. After all, Hermione had no idea how she had gotten placed in a NEWT-level Potions class.

She worked in silence, adding ingredients and changing temperatures for a few minutes, until she became confused as to the precise amount of times she was supposed to stir the potion.

Hermione craned her neck to look at what color Emma's potion was, and found it to be lime green. Hers was a deep teal, and she began panicking. Within five minutes, though it had returned to the right color. Hermione breathed a sigh of relief.

"It's too thin, and you didn't add enough Grindylow scales," Tom said immediately. His cynical air annoyed her greatly.

"But I made it correctly, right? We'll get an O on it, isn't that good enough for you?"

"That's the thing," Tom said blankly. "You said you could make it as well as me. You made it well, but not as well as I would've."

He surveyed her with an expression that she could not read. Then again, she realized that she could never read his expression.

"Don't try to match me," Tom said quietly. "It won't work."

Hermione suddenly remembered that she was supposed to be of only average intelligence, and very timid. Tom watched as her face shut down.

"You're right," Hermione replied bluntly, nodding.

Something flashed through his eyes that could have been surprise, but it was so quickly quelled that Hermione could not be sure.

Professor Alonzin did give them an Outstanding; the only one in the class.

* * *

When the bell rang, Emma and a Gryffindor boy with shaggy hair caught up with her. 

"Helen! You're so lucky to be partners with Tom Riddle. Even though he's a git like the rest of them, he'll do all the work, and you'll get great marks. By the way, this is Christoph Black. He's the Keeper on the Gryffindor Quidditch team."

"Nice to meet you," Hermione said with a smile. "I'm glad I'm partners with Tom for this term; I'm not the brightest when it comes to Potions."

"Neither am I!" Christoph said quickly. His voice was deep and thunderous. "I barely scraped by last year. I swear Alonzin is trying to get me thrown off of the Quidditch team . . ."

Later that evening, while studying in the library, Hermione wondered why she had not been absolutely terrified of Tom Riddle. After all, she had watched his future self murder her best friend, and he had been about to kill her. As far as she knew, he would still do that if she did not kill him first. But how was she supposed to do that?

Somehow, planning his murder made her stomach turn. _I have to destroy him before he even has a chance to become Lord Voldemort. This is the man that made the world tremble in fear. It's perfectly right to murder one man in order to save a thousand lives. _

Hermione's mind insisted that it was the logical answer to all of her problems. If she killed Tom Riddle, Lord Voldemort would never exist. Then she could go forward and see Harry, Ron, her _parents_ . . .

And so she began thinking of ways to kill him. Avada Kerdarva was obviously out of the question, as she had no idea how to perform it. She would have to go for a Muggle way. She did not have a gun, though that would be the easiest. _Perhaps a knife from the kitchens . . ._

This seemed barbaric and terrible, but it was the only thing that she could think of. After she killed him, however, she would immediately have to use the time-turner to escape and go forward in time. In that case, she needed to_ figure out _how to goforward in time.

_When I have figured that out, I will be ready to kill him, _Hermione thought solidly. _It won't be long now._

((So how are you all liking it? Too slow? Too fast? I really want to hear your opinions, so review!))


	5. Late Night Suspicions

((A.N. Here is Chapter 4, which just barely made it on to here in time, by the way. I've been busy. Too busy. Anyhow, here it is. I love my reviewers, you are all wonderful and supportive. Thank you to **Princess of Slytherin, Ramones3me, Black-rose23, Loriliant Angelisa Snape **(What! Did you post the one shot?), **sexy-jess, Magic and Sparkle, Lyn, EuphoniumGurl10, BrennaM, elisabeth, adriana, **and **blue ice2. **Well, enjoy the chapter, and... !waits by inbox! review! And thanks to **DramaShethan **lots!))

_How can you see into my eyes, like open doors?_

_Leading you down into my core_

_Where I've become so numb._

_Without a soul, my spirit's sleeping somewhere cold_

_Until you find it there, and lead it back home._

–_Evanescence_

* * *

Chapter 4– Late Night Suspicions 

The days passed, and Hermione worked hard to keep up her facade as 'Helen'. She was dully agreeable, and all of the Gryffindors got along well with her. Meanwhile, she searched for a way to go forward in time, but with no luck. There was nothing that suggested forward time travel was even possible.

She was surprised to see that she had almost all of her classes with Tom. He was the top of every class, and the Professors adored him. The workload was huge, but Hermione forced herself to earn average marks. It was strange how much it hurt to hold herself back in classes. Learning had always been something she had loved, and now she had to act like an average student.

Her next move came a few weeks later in Potions class. She had still been assigned to work with Tom, though they never said anything to each other. Potions was the only class she ever tried hard in, since it would not look suspicious if she did well with Tom as her partner. She had become so good at being 'Helen', however, that as they were beginning to brew on Friday, Hermione scratched her head, feigning confusion.

"I really don't understand this Reviving Drought. It's much too complicated for Seventh Year. Honestly, what are 'worm antennae?' I'm really confused."

Tom looked up from stirring his potion. His midnight eyes met hers, but they were impenetrable, as always.

"You're a good actress," he said coldly. Hermione's stomach clenched painfully. How did he know? He could not possibly have discovered that she had come from the future. She decided to play stupid.

"Not really. I tried Drama in my Muggle school, and I'm quite prone to stage fright," she said blankly.

"I'm not dense, you know," he continued, as if she had not said anything. "And neither are you. I've watched you brew these potions, and I can see that you're one of the most intelligent witches here. You hide it very well in our other classes, though, and all of your thickheaded Gryffindor friends believe it, too. What are you trying so hard to hide?"

Hermione's brain became nearly incoherent with panic. If he told anyone else what he had noticed, her entire cover would be blown. She desperately searched for something to say.

"I don't like to flaunt my intelligence," she murmured silkily, pretending to jot something down in her notes. Even Hermione was surprised at what a wonderful actress time had made her.

"You downright try to hide it, though. Anyone half intelligent can see that what you're doing is all an act," Tom insisted.

"And what you're doing isn't?" Hermione retorted quietly. It was all she could think of to distract him from herself. Gaining confidence, she continued, "sure, you're witty and charming to everyone around you, but is that how you really are?" Her voice took on a nasty edge as she said, "on the inside, you have no idea what you want to be. You're terrible. I can see right through _you_, too. Everyone can."

Her distraction ploy turned into something much more as she noticed his expression. His calm face had shattered, and Hermione realized that she had hit the nail on the head.

"You don't know anything about me," Tom said, his voice calmer than ever. He composed his face and turned back to the potion.

"I know enough to–"

"Don't talk to me," he whispered in a deadly tone. She had never seen so much emotion from him. In fact, she realized it was the first time that his face had ever looked vulnerable.

"Outstanding, as always! But what else would I expect from my star student?" Professor Alonzin commented as he graded their Reviving Drought.

"Nothing less, sir," Tom said earnestly.

Right then, Hermione decided that they were both outstanding actors.

* * *

"_On the inside, you have no idea what you want to be. You're terrible. I can see right through you. Everyone can."_

The words rang through Tom's head as he walked to Transfiguration. Obviously, they were not true, but why did they bother him so much? Perhaps it was because all his life, he had worked to be not _nothing. _He had been so preoccupied with being not _nothing_ that he hadn't had time to be _something. _

_How can this be? I'm Head Boy, top of my class, and Seeker on my House Quidditch team. Of course I'm something._

It never occurred to him that perhaps it was the emptiness on the inside that accounted for the nothing he felt.

He rapped on Dumbledore's office door, and Dumbledore opened it promptly.

"Mr. Riddle," Dumbledore intoned in greeting. Tom stepped into Dumbledore's office, wondering if this was the day he would finally match Dumbledore in Transfiguration.

"May I acquire as to how the rest of your classes are going, Mr. Riddle?Prepared for N.E.W.T.s, I presume?"

"I'm confident that I'll do well. My other classes are going fine," Tom said blankly. He looked Dumbledore in the eye, and found it hard not to flinch. Dumbledore made Tom feel as if he was made of glass, transparent and fragile.

Dumbledore folded his hands calmly in his lap as he sat down behind the desk. Tom remained standing, since he had not been offered a seat. One slip-upon Tom's part would lose him the game of wits they seemed to play.

"Glad to hear it," Dumbledore said quietly. "Have you met the new student at our school, Helen Nestowe?"

Immediate alarms went off in Tom's head. Had Dumbledore noticed her strange behavior also? If anyone had, it would have been Dumbledore.

"I've seen her around," Tom said neutrally.

"Quite brilliant, don't you agree? Almost as gifted as you, I'd guess," the older wizard said in a hinting tone. Tom decided that he obviously wanted information on this _Helen._

"She's quite bland, really. Doesn't earn outstanding marks, but isn't too bad ethier," Tom answered, making a resolution to find out more about Helen. Not that he would tell Dumbledore what he knew. If Dumbledore was interested in her, though, she was obviously someone important. Perhaps her identity could be used to his political advantage.

"That is how it would appear, isn't it?" Dumbledore said quickly. "But then again, I suppose you only take things for their face value, Mr. Riddle."

As he had done many times before, Dumbledore was trying to get a rise out of Tom. Dumbledore should've known better.

"And I suppose you take everything _I _say for face value, _Sir?_" Tom sneered.

"Not at all, _Mr. _Riddle."

"Then you are much more intelligent than I had formerly believed," Tom shot back seamlessly.

This was just another of their constant power struggles, and Dumbledore merely quirked an eyebrow at him.

"With that said, let us begin our lesson."

* * *

Hermione jumped as she felt a rough hand on her shoulder. 

"Ms. Nestowe, it is far past closing time in the library. I found you back here, asleep on your books! Go back to your dormitory and get to sleep," Madame Rostam said sternly as Hermione's head popped up.

Hermione looked blearily at the page she had been reading.

_Nicolas Flamel, in his 566 years of living, dedicated a great deal of his life to the study of time. In fact, in his later years he wrote many theoretical essays that pertained to time and its essence. He claimed that if time could be rewound, it could also be fast-forwarded, though modern wizards have yet to achieve this. He also claims that though time can be rewound and sped up, there is ultimately no way of changing..._

"Ms. Nestowe, now!" Madame Rostam shrieked, snatching the book away from Hermione. She ground her teeth in frustration.

Though Hermione was annoyed and exhausted, she was excited about what she had been reading. Perhaps there was a way to go forward in time. Since she was in the past, it was doubtlessly easier to travel forward to the future. She made a resolution to continue reading about this subject when she was more rested. For now, she needed some sleep.

Hermione checked her wristwatch and found that it was past midnight. She slunk out of the library and into the shadowy halls, shivering at the darkness that enveloped her. Hermione made her way swiftly down the corridors, making no noise, and not bothering to light her wand.

A shadowy figure stepped around the corner directly ahead of her. She gasped in surprise, and light illuminated the scene instantly. Tom Riddle's face came into focus, his expression blank and cold, as always. Hermione gasped again, wondering if she ought to run or pull our her own wand.

"Helen Nestowe, I believe? What could you possibly be up to, wandering the corridors in the middle of the night? With no light, I might add," Tom asked blatantly. He lowered his wand so that his face was partly shrouded in darkness.

Hermione's mind raced frantically. She could not tell why he was asking, because his tone of voice was as blank as his expression. Was their run in a coincidence?

"I might ask the same of you," Hermione said with a bit of indignance. She could not completely disguise the shake in her voice, hard as she tried. Alone in the dark with Lord Voldemort was not a place Hermione had ever wanted to be.

Tom gave her a calculating look.

"Perhaps it has alluded your notice that I do, in fact, hold the position of _Head Boy_. It is my job to patrol the corridors for students out of bed. Students such as yourself," Tom said carefully, his smooth face giving away nothing.

Hermione flushed. _Head Boy! Of course he has to be Head Boy! Why _wouldn't_ Lord Voldemort be Head Boy? _First she cursed her dismal luck, then Dippet's woefully deluded judge of character.

Hermione could not tell him that she had been at the library researching time travel. She would have to act, once again, and hope that he bought it. Doubtful, but worth a try.

"I was doing some late night studying at the library, and to tell you the truth, I got a bit turned around on my way back. This castle's huge, and I've only been here for a month or so. I got a little lost, is all," she finished, pretending to look ashamed. Tom crossed his arms.

"I take it you need me to escort you to the Gryffindor common room, then?"

Once again, Hermione cursed inwardly. All she wanted to do was get away from him, but she had dug herself a wonderful hole from which she could not escape.

"That would be very helpful of you," Hermione said graciously, through painfully gritted teeth.

"It's my job," Tom said again, as if having to justify that he wasn't voluntarily helping her. He began to walk her down the path that Hermione could have walked blindfolded. As they neared the Gryffindor portrait hole, Tom spoke.

"As punishment for being out of bed, I could just take 30 points away from Gryffindor, which I assure you, I would enjoy very much. Or, you could do something else for me."

Hermione stopped dead in her tracks as the sentence hung in the air. "You _pervert! _If you really think I am going to–"

Tom silenced her with the raise of an eyebrow. "Tell me something, rather," he amended, his mouth twitching into a sly grin. Hermione flushed, feeling like an idiot for the second time that night.

"Who are you, really?" Tom continued. "Why are you here?"

"I told you," she said immediately. " I came from Germany with my family–"

"_Not _that story. Tell me the real one," Tom insisted. His dark eyes seemed intense in the dim light, and Hermione found herself hypnotized by them.

_This is all wrong! What if he finds out I'm from the future? Everything will be ruined!_

Hermione looked up at him, and into his eyes, searching for any hint of emotion. She found none.

"It'll be 30 points from Gryffindor, then," Hermione said icily. She hoped that her face mirrored his as she turned away. If she would have looked back, Hermione would have seen Tom standing there, staring after her until she faded into the darkness.

((A.N. So... the plot thickens. How is Hermione going to get back to the future? And have I mentioned that the quotes at the beginning of each chapter are extremely important to the plot!hint hint!Review!))


	6. Sunset Tears

((A.N. Hola, here's chapter five. Right now I'm simultaneously attempting to update this chapter/finish my history notes/eat dinner/get ready to ballroom dance, and sadly I'm not kidding. Anyhow, hope you all like this chapter, the plot thickens... thank you all, as always, for those reviews! They help me out more than you all know! Thanks to **EuphoniumGurl, princess of slytherin, Magic and Sparkle, BrennaM, Leogal, sexy-jess, Loriliant Angelisa Snape, Steffy Potter, ramones4me, silver gaze, sayahiei, **and **blue ice2. **Hope you all like it!))

_Death is not the biggest fear we have; our biggest fear is taking the risk to be alive– the risk to be alive and express what we really are._

— _Elaine Maxwell_

* * *

Chapter 5– Sunset Tears

"_Furvam cor, sacramentim aedifice_," Tom intoned softly to the group of students clustered around him. He held out his left forearm as he felt the flesh singe and become scarred. His friends peered closely at the Mark the incantation had left. It was a dark skull, and out of its mouth slithered a snake. The skull was a sign of knowledge, and the snake, of course, was a reference to Slytherin.

"See? It symbolizes the power of Salazar Slytherin, and hence the power of _us_," Tom said softly, allowing his audience to gaze at the skull, fascinated. _The power of me,_ he corrected inwardly. These simple-minded people would never be anything but followers of him.

"It appears only in the light of the full moon," he continued, glancing at the sky above, "so no one will be able to see it, most of the time."

_For now, _he thought.

"Does it hurt?" a boy named Hamilius Lestrange asked breathlessly.

"A little," Tom said in a confidential tone. "But it is a symbol of our unity. _Imagine_ the greatness we will be able to achieve working together. We will be the strongest alliance of witches and wizards that the _world_ has ever seen. I promise you this."

And so alluring was his voice, and the look on his face, and the way he spoke and stood and moved, that his audience was transfixed, unable to reason for themselves. These impossible things he promised them were suddenly conceivable, and their dreams were suddenly painfully real. Tom looked at the faces around him, saw their expressions of ambition and hope. He realized that they, like him, wished for power more than anything in the world, and would go to dangerous lengths to get it. There he stood, offering acceptance and unity on a silver platter. Who were they to refuse such an offer?

"The marks will also alert you whenever we have meetings. This way we won't have to sneak messages behind the Professors' backs."

He gave his comrades a few more moments to think about his offer, then said, "Do you like them?"

"I think they're brilliant!" a third year girl from Slytherin exclaimed.

"They'll prove very useful," Rhion Malfoy, his fellow seventh year, announced regally.

"Will your genius ever cease to amaze us, Tom?" Nora Knightley said with a trademark grin. This seemed to convince everyone else, and they all began adding in their compliments.

Tom smiled, nodding and telling them that it had just been an idea, while inwardly rejoicing at their quick acceptance of the incantation. This was his way of giving them something that felt close to a family, and thus he made them feel more falsely secure than ever.

For the past few weeks, things had been going well for Tom. His only frustration had been Helen Nestowe. He could not figure her out. Dumbledore was obviously still interested in her, and Tom's curiosity had reached a new level.

Why did she pretend to be average when she was obviously quite brilliant? Where had she come from? Why had no one else questioned her rapid and mysterious appearance? Tom had decided that it was useless to talk to her directly after that night in the corridors. When Gryffindors were willing to lose large amounts of points for no reason, it was never a good sign. She obviously had a huge secret, and Tom had a nagging suspicion that this secret was something to do with him. He saw it in the way she avoided his eyes.

It was a fairly warm, breezy October night when Tom climbed the stairs to the Astronomy Tower. He leaned over the railing of one of the balconies that lined the edge of the tower, and let the breeze ruffle his hair. The cool wind helped him think clearer, so he often came up to escape the cold confines of the dungeons. The sun had nearly set; a flaming peak was vanishing at the far end of the horizon.)

He had not seen the shadow that had followed him so softly to the top, had not seen the way the red sun glinted off of steel knife in her hand. Hermione stopped slowly when she saw Tom leaning over the balcony, his dark hair pulled back by the wind. He had a look of deep contemplation of his face and seemed completely unaware of her. _Now is the time, _she thought solidly, and started forward.

"Wait."

Hermione sheathed the knife in her robe at the sound of his voice, a growing feeling of dread threatening to engulf her. Tom had not turned around, and was silent for a few moments. Had he seen the knife in her hand?

"Why are you here?" he said finally, facing her. He took in every detail of the girl standing there. Her long, sleek golden brown hair, her full lips, the way the last rays of the setting sun glanced off of her amber eyes, making them entrancing and luminous in the fading light.

"I come here sometimes to think," she said haltingly. She seemed tense, ready to leap back. Tom crossed his arms casually and leaned back against the side of the balcony.

"Tired of acting, I presume?" he said abruptly, taking her by surprise.

"No."

"That's a lie." Smirk.

They were silent after this rapid exchange, and Tom shook his head in disbelief.

"That isn't what your hair really looks like, is it?" he said with an amused air about him.

"Yes it is!" she said indignantly, pulling at the straight locks to show him they were real.

He laughed coldly, as if dismissing her words. Tom pulled out his wand and gave it a flick in her general direction.

Hermione gasped as she felt her hair change. The straight locks had turned into bushy curls. She shrieked in horror as she brought her hands up to her head.

"What– what did you do!"

"I've only reversed whatever spell you've put on it," Tom replied cooly, raising an eyebrow.

She glanced from side to side, as if to make sure that no one had seen it.

"Change it _back!_" she hissed angrily, giving him a glare of death. Tom thought briefly that it looked rather appropriate the way it was, but then again, what did _he _care about this stupid girl's hairstyle? He did _not_ care, that was for sure. With another flick of his wand, her hair had returned to its normal consistency.

"Is there _anything_ real about you?" Tom asked coldly. Hermione suddenly looked upset, and Tom knew that he was getting to her. _Perfect._ "Who are you trying so hard to hide from?"

_You, _she wanted to say desperately, just to get a reaction out of him. She opened her mouth to create a believable story, but Tom beat her to it.

"Don't lie," he said quickly. "It doesn't work with me."

She took a deep breath, insanely frustrated at his intuition. Though she would never admit it, she _was _tired of acting every second of the day. She had wanted to go back home so much, and her plan had been foiled once again. It was all too much. She felt tears prick her eyes.

"To tell you the truth, I'm lost," she whispered. "I'm lost, and I don't quite know how to get back." Her voice was ghastly quiet and full of raw emotion. If she was acting now, she deserved an award, Tom decided. As he watched the first tear leak out of her eye, watched it trickle down her face like a forlorn shooting star, an emotion broke through that he had never felt. Was it sorrow?

"Hogwarts library has got all the maps in the world. If you were smart, you would just look . . ."

"Not . . . like that," she said with an effort. "Not lost like that."

She sniffed, trying to hold back the sobs that threatened to rack her body. She raged inwardly at herself for crying. _For goodness sake, this is Lord Voldemort you're in front of! He was the cold-blooded murder of a thousand– but no. He isn't. Not yet. What did you expect, pity?_

"Why do you cry?" Tom asked suddenly, fixing his gaze determinedly on her. There was a small flush high on his cheeks.

Hermione looked at him, her eyes full of disbelief and frustration. "I told you already. I'm lost –"

"No, not the reasoning you're crying, I know that. Why do you cry when you're upset or sad? Why does anyone cry? I really don't see the point of it. It's not as if shedding salty water will help your problem. So, why?"

The realization hit Hermione like a bludger. _He doesn't understand emotion,_ she thought wildly. _He's probably never shed a tear in his life. _

"That's like, like . . . asking why the sky is blue. Because it _is. _Because that's what it's always been, and there's probably some . . . long, scientific explanation for it that I don't know, but mostly just because it _is_."

Tom looked at her with that horrible blank expression that she was coming to dread. "Then it's stupid to cry. It's stupid when people do something because it was 'meant to be.'"

Hermione sensed deep meaning in his words, but was too upset to decipher them.

"What do you do, then? Bottle all your emotions up? Keep them hidden? I knew someone who did that once," she said in a miserable tone. "Things didn't work out very well for him, in the end."

Tom knew she was trying to tell him something, even if she herself did not realize it.

"Who is he?" Tom inquired.

Hermione looked at the determined yet rueful young man in front of her. "You wouldn't know him," she said, her voice softening as she spoke. "You wouldn't know him at all."

Tom looked at her wet face, glistening in the dark. He realized he wanted to do something for her that he had never wanted to do before; he wanted to comfort her, sooth her, make her feel better in any way possible. Only he did not know how, since he had never given or received comfort.

And then he snapped out of it.

_What are you _thinking? _This is Helen Nestowe, an actress that has fooled everyone. She's probably acting right now! Why am I listening to her?_

Hermione felt it immediately, a coldness, a tenseness in him that had not been there before.

"Listen. I don't need some Gryffindor Mudblood spilling her frivolous problems all over me, okay? I don't even know you. You're nothing to me, nothing but a liar, so get out of here." Tom's voice did not even rise as he spoke, but it was more forceful a command than any Hermione had ever heard.

She looked at Tom Riddle, Voldemort, whoever he was, one last time before whirling around and stalking away. His cold black eyes were the last thing that she saw.

((So what's happening with these two? Tom is just terrible isn't he? You all seem obsessed with the idea of academic competition, so maybe I'll do a bit of that in the later chapters. What do you think? Review!))


	7. Enemies Closer

((A.N. Chapter 6, on time as usual. Things start getting exciting... and alsofar more complicated. Looks like there's going to be some snogging soon... but no promises! Thanks to everyone that reviewed,including **blue ice2, sexy-jess, Black-rose23**(I thinkyou like this chapter if you like academic competition ;D), **candice, EuphoniumGurl0, Magic and Sparkle, silver gaze, SaTiNk06, Lady Moofin, Kou Shun'u, LilytheSpitfire, divinething, **and **ramones4me. **You're all so great! Hope you like this chapter!))

_It is our light, not our darkness, that frightens us most._

– _Marianne Williamson_

* * *

Chapter 6– Enemies Closer 

Dumbledore paced back and forth in his study, an action he seemed to be performing frequently as of late. It was not a very big study, really, but it was what Dippet had given him. He was startled by a brisk rap on the door.

Straightening his robes, he strode over and pulled open the door. He was quite surprised at what he saw on the other side.

"Good day," he said to the young witch standing just outside of his office. She was younger than him, in her early twenties, he would have guessed. She had long, raven black hair and sharp hazel eyes. She was nothing short of beautiful, with imperious high cheekbones and petite lips. At the moment, her face was filled with what seemed like hopeful enthusiasm.

"Professor Albus Dumbledore, am I correct? I'm Minerva McGonagall, and it's an honor to meet you, sir," she said reverently, beaming as she stuck out her hand. Dumbledore took it, amazed at the young woman's animated excitement.

"Ah, Minerva McGonagall, so glad that you've come. The Ministry has assigned you to be my assistant, is that correct?"

Minerva's rosy cheeks flushed, and she nodded vehemently. "Until a job opens at another school, yes, Professor."

"No need to call me Professor, now is there? After all, I'm afraid we have the same qualifications."

Dumbledore's eyes twinkled and she nodded.

"I am so pleased to be working here at Hogwarts, Prof–Albus. It's been my dream for so long, and I hope to be here for the rest of my life . . ."

* * *

Hermione entered the Potions classroom apprehensively. She had thought about Tom Riddle quite often, and had come to a startling conclusion. 

From the moment she had arrived in 1943, Hermione had not had the least clue about what to do. All she knew was that she had to kill Tom Riddle before he killed her. It had seemed like a simple task, except for the fact that he was on the verge of figuring her out and was absolutely _impossible _to sneak up on. So, she had started thinking of other ways to kill him.

_Keep your friends close, but your enemies closer._

She had come to the conclusion that she would do something impossible. Namely, befriend Tom Riddle. When the time was right and he was completely comfortable around her, she would strike, and he would not even see his death coming.

Now there was only one thing left to do. Go about befriending him.

She laughed inwardly. _If someone had told me a month ago that I would be jumping at the chance to make friends with Lord Voldemort, I would have committed them to an insane asylum, no question. Such irony._

She sat down next to him.

"I'm sorry," she said bluntly, and a little stand-offishly. He stared straight ahead, ceasing to acknowledge that she was speaking.

"I shouldn't have even–"

Tom rounded on her suddenly, his eyes thunderous with temper.

"You don't get it, do you? I guess you missed it last night when I told you _never to talk to me again._ I don't know you, and I don't want anything to do with you. Ever," he finished. She could tell by his voice that he meant every word of it. _This is going well, _she thought wryly. _What did I do to hack him off so much? This was a bad idea!_

She looked at him out of the corner of her eye. He had not raised his voice in the least, and his face was as calm and unruffled as ever. She narrowed her eyes in frustration.

"Can I do something?" she asked, and without waiting for an answer, smacked him across the face.

He gasped as her hand made contact with his cheek, raising a hand to the welt that was forming where she had hit him. Next he turned to her, high pink spots appearing on his pale face.

"What is your _problem_? You filthy, Mudblood, temperamental Gryffindor lunatic!"

The Potions bottle on the desk suddenly exploded, drenching Hermione in a sticky yellow liquid. To his utter vexation, she only smiled.

"You're insane," he whispered in a deadly tone. "You have no idea what I can do to you for this."

_Well, that solves that mystery, _Hermione thought smugly. _He does have actual feelings, and that's helpful to know. Maybe not the _friendliest _feelings, but it's definitely a start. _

"What is going _on _over there?" Professor Alonzin roared, once he had seen the mess. Tom immediately straightened up in his seat.

"I'm terribly sorry, Professor. I . . . _accidentally_ . . . knocked that potion off of the desk. I'll stay after class and clean it up," he offered earnestly.

"No need, Mr. Riddle, no need. I'm sure it was an accident," Professor Alonzin replied immediately.

"I _will _try to be more careful, sir," Tom assured him as the professor walked away.

"You make me sick," Hermione said, once the professor was out of earshot. Tom did not look at her, simply grabbed a rag and began mopping the yellow liquid on the floor.

She could not help wondering, though, if this was how she herself looked around teachers. _Nah, _she thought, smiling in an amused fashion, _no one could ever be as big of a teacher's pet as him._

* * *

Tom stalked down the hall, in a terrible temper. 

_I hate her, _he thought with feeling. He paused for a moment, however. He had never, in his entire life, lost his temper as he just had. In fact, if he had not used every ounce of his strength to restrain himself, he was sure the ceiling would have come crashing down around them. What had she done to make him so angry? He had been hit many times before, and surely harder than that. Perhaps it was that smug expression on her face, or possibly that the slap had been completely unprovoked.

Or perhaps it was why Tom had not wanted to talk to her in the first place. When she was around, everything was different, and Tom hated it. He had spent all of his life building up barriers against his feelings, but when she was there they seemed to disappear. Feelings resurfaced that he had thought long dead. She was no doubt using some kind of complicated magic to weaken his defenses. Besides, he would not risk associating with a Muggle-born

Gryffindor. He did not want to talk to her, and he did not need to talk to her. She was of no political advantage to him, and therefore useless. Logic had always been a strong part of his character, and this logic seemed unflawed.

"Riddle! Hey, _Riddle!_" he heard a sharp voice from behind him yell.

Rhion Malfoy caught up with him, silver eyes flashing in what seemed like amusement. The two boys had not liked each other much until the end of sixth year. Tom had hated Malfoy's sulking arrogance, and the fact that he had had everything in life handed to him on a silver platter. Malfoy had resented the fact that a worthless half blood had beat him in every subject, and had gained the position of Head Boy. Tom had realized, however, that he did not want a family as powerful as the Malfoy family as his enemy, and had formed a tentative alliance with Rhion.

"I saw what happened in Potions today," he drawled, voice grating against Tom's ears. "That Nestowe girl slapped you, and not very lightly, I might add. You must have done something awful to make her so angry. Filthy mudblood."

_Apparently my presence is enough to provoke her, _he thought wryly, but instead said, "I threw a couple of insults at her, belittled her family and social status a bit, and she blew up. You know how Gryffindors are."

Rhion nodded solemnly, failing to catch the sarcasm in his words. "You're not going to let a Gryffindor Mudblood get away with that, are you? It would ruin your reputation."

Tom thought about that for a moment before saying, "Certainly not. I'll have to think of a horrendous way to get her expelled in front of the entire school. Do you think that's harsh enough?" Tom asked facetiously.

"For laying a hand on the great Tom Riddle? Hardly," Rhion said, laughing along with Tom.

"Late for Transfigurations, later, Malfoy," Tom said easily, with a nod of farewell.

As he walked away, Tom grimaced. _What a bloke, _he thought with conviction. It was a measure of his power that even the people he liked least felt blindly comfortable around him. After all, Tom Riddle was a charming, charming boy.

Then again, so was Adolf Hitler.

_Malfoy will be a good pawn. They will all be._

* * *

"More Veela in Germany?" Hermione asked, her eyes flashing amusedly towards Chistoph Black. "Nope, not any more than there are here, I'm afraid." 

Emma, who was sprawled in an armchair doing her homework, laughed as Chistoph's face fell. He had never met a Veela, and hoped that Hermione had known one in Germany. _It would help if I'd ever _been _to Germany, _Hermione thought with some amusement.

"I've heard they like Bulgarian men better. They probably all live over there," she invented nonchalantly.

Christoph's grin came back relatively quickly. "I saw you slap Riddle in class today. What was that all about?"

Emma gasped and looked at Hermione.

"He threw some insults at me, belittled my family and social status a bit, and I blew up. You know how Slytherins are."

Christoph, ironically, failed to catch the sarcasm in her words.

"Slimy Slytherin git," said Christoph, clearly disgusted.

"Well . . ." Emma cut in shyly, "He _is _one of the best looking boys in our class. Oh, c'mon, Helen, don't look at me like that . . . those dark, mysterious eyes . . ."

"Emma! Do you realize who you're talking about!" Christoph exploded suddenly. "Tom Riddle, leader of the Slytherins, evil extra ordinaire!"

"I'm only _saying, _Chris. Besides, you make Tom out to be the Dark Lord himself! As _if_! I don't mind a boy who steps over the line, occasionally . . ."

Hermione, who was becoming very uncomfortable with the conversation, put up a finger in protest, but her squeak was drowned out by Christoph's voice.

"So if I go around hexing Muggle-borns for no good reason, will you like me more! Is that it?"

Emma stared at him in disbelief, before yelling, "You are _impossible, _Christoph Black!"

She commenced in dramatically storming out of the room.

"Was it something I said?" Christoph asked Hermione when Emma was out of hearing, before cracking a grin.

_Is that what Ron and I sound like? _Hermione thought suddenly. _No wonder Harry goes nuts when he's around us!_ She realized that she still thought about both of the boys in the present tense . . . a sad misconception on her part, since they were both dead.

" . . . so, can you?" Christoph finished.

"Huh? Sorry," said Hermione quickly. He rolled his eyes.

"There's a Quidditch match, Slytherin versus Gryffindor. Are you coming to watch me, or not?" Christoph's eyes seemed hopeful as he looked at her.

Hermione restrained herself from rolling her own eyes. _Some things never change, do they? Boys and their sports. _

"I don't know, Chris, I–" she broke off, about to say that she had a lot of studying to do, except for the fact that she did not. _You're not Hermione, you're Helen, remember?_

"Sure, I'll be there," she said finally. As a grin spread over his face, it was eerie how much he resembled Sirius.

* * *

"A Quidditch match?" Minerva asked Dumbledore as they walked back to his office. "I'm quite partial to Quidditch, actually," she said, a blush creeping along her cheeks. 

"You don't find many ladies who enjoy the game. An honorable aspect of you," Dumbledore said politely. His opinion of her was growing with every word that she said. That, and the fact that he found her devastatingly attractive.

Dumbledore checked his wristwatch. "It is time for me to give one of my students a private lesson," Dumbledore said, with a wave of goodbye.

"May I come? I'd love to help," Minerva piped up, her eyes shining at a new challenge.

"I'm afraid not, Minerva. This student is . . . troubled, shall we say. Perhaps I will let you meet him in the future," Dumbledore said gently, though in a tone that suggested the subject was closed. Minerva frowned thoughtfully before nodding.

"I will see you at the Quidditch match, then," Minerva replied brightly, only a touch of disappointment in her voice. "I daresay I'll be rooting for Gryffindor."

"The Quidditch match," Dumbledore agreed with a smile.

* * *

Consequentially, Hermione, Minerva, Dumbledore, Christoph, Tom, and even Emma found themselves on the Quidditch pitch at half past nine on Saturday morning. 

It was a blindingly beautiful October morning, and the wind pitched through the trees in a crisp, wistful fashion. Hermione was sitting high up in the stands with Emma and a few other Gryffindor seventh years. There was that electric, contagious sort of excitement in the air that was always present at the beginning of a match.

"And here's the Gryffindor Quidditch team!" the announcer roared as seven red robed figures darted out on the field and into the air.

"And the Slytherins!" the announcer roared again. Green and silver blurs made a loop around the Quidditch pitch before landing. The captains shook hands, and the game was on.

Hermione gazed up at the two figures flying highest in the sky, A pang went through her heart as she realized that neither one of them was Harry. One, however, had a style that reminded her of Harry's flying. She squinted, but couldn't make him out. Who was he?

As the game progressed, Gryffindor took a definite lead, partly due to Christoph's excellent goal keeping. Now it was only a matter of the Snitch being found, and the Gryffindors would win. Emma was cheering along with the others, and suddenly grabbed Hermione's wrist and dragged her through the crowd.

"C'mon, Helen! I want a better view!"

Hermione found herself leaning on a balcony in the stands. They were level with the thirty meter goal posts, and could see the game much more clearly than before. Hermione peered up, squinting, and now had a closer view of the two Seekers.

Emma's eyes were riveted on Christoph, and her expression was changing at everything he did. Hence, neither of the two girls saw Rhion Malfoy pull up short on his broom, gazing maliciously at Hermione. There she was, obviously straining to see something far above her, leaning over the edge on her tiptoes, barely balanced. Just one small push . . .

And then the Bludger came hurtling towards Malfoy, and he took the club in his hands and slammed the ball with an immense amount of force at Hermione.

_I know who it is! _Hermione thought finally. _That's– _but her thought was cut short as something thwacked her in the back and sent her careening over the edge.

"Helen!" she heard Emma yell, but the pain that jarred her was setting in, and Hermione did not realize that Emma was yelling at her. _Who's Helen? _She thought vaguely. She also did not realize she was screaming, screaming so loud that the announcers voice was drowned out.

Then she felt strong arms wrap around her, felt the solidity of a chest at her back, and had the vague notion of slamming into the ground. Finally, she blacked out.

((A.N. Hm... I guess the question isn't 'who caught her?', because that's obvious, but 'Why?'))


	8. Best For Them

((A.N. Here is Chapter 7. One day late, admittedly, but I hope the length makes up for it. To put it shortly, I was having some characterization problems. I hope they're fixed now, but I might be reposting this again once I've worked all the kinks out. First, once again a very long chapter, and for lack of a better word, a philosophical one. Secondly, I know I promised some snogging, but it looks as if you're going to have to wait one more chapter. !cowers from readers in fear! Please don't be mad. Third, I have... 97 reviews! That's crazy! Impossible! Nearly 100! I'm so ecstatic. Thanks to **EuphoniumGurl0, princess of slytherin, adriana, Magic and Sparkle, Loriliant Angelisa Snape, Kou Shun'u, meandmysharpie, deivinething, flyonthewall, KittyKateKat, candice, KyootNshort, steffy-potter, Lady Moofin, Tears-That-Fall, Black-Rose23, silvergaze, sexy-jess, ramones4me, Sarah, blue ice2, and Quinn. **You're all so great and supportive. Thanks most of all to **Drama Shethan **for all of your help on this chapter. Sorry for this ridiculously long author's note, and enjoy!))

* * *

_The good, the bad, hardship, joy, tragedy, love, and happiness are all interwoven into one indescribable whole that is called life. You cannot separate the good from the evil, but perhaps there is no need to do so._

– _Jacqueline Onassis _

* * *

Chapter 7– Best For Them 

Tom opened his eyes, immediately aware of his surroundings. He was in the infirmary, and he had forgotten to do his Charms homework . . .

He was in the _infirmary. _How had he gotten there? The last thing he remembered was the Quidditch match, and how he had seen Rhion Malfoy hit the bludger at Helen Nestowe . . .

The memories came flooding back. He had gone into the sharpest dive he had ever attempted in his life, and caught Helen moments before she had plunged to certain death. He had managed to pull his broom up just feet from the ground, but apparently it had not been enough to stop them from crashing.

_Why? _Itwas the first thing that came to his mind. He had never, and was certain that he would never again risk his life to save someone else. In a way, the reason Malfoy had hit the bludger at Helen was Tom's own fault. He had told Malfoy that he wanted to get back at her, and Rhion had taken his idea of revenge to a whole new level.

Tom turned his head slowly, and to his surprise saw her lying on a separate bed next to him. She looked so pale and lifeless that he wondered if she was dead. Not that he cared, if she was.

"Awake, are we, Mr. Riddle?"

Tom jerked his head to the other side and saw Dumbledore sitting in an overstuffed chair, watching him calmly.

Tom tried to sit up, thinking that he would never want Dumbledore to see him this vulnerable, but a sharp pain in his hip stopped him.

"Madame Baroma has informed me that you've fractured your hip. You won't be able to walk for two or three days, until it magically splints together," Dumbledore informed him politely.

Tom cursed inwardly. If there was one thing he hated, it was being weak, and lying in a hospital bed for three days certainly wasn't his idea of strength.

"You saved Helen Nestowe's life," Dumbledore said bluntly. His stare was probing as he gazed at Tom. "Why?"

"It is my duty as Head Boy, sir, to ensure the safety and well-being of all students," Tom replied blankly.

"But surely it is not your duty to risk your own life in the process?" Dumbledore replied evenly.

Tom took a deep breath. "I felt responsible for her fall, Professor. After all, it was a Beater on my team that hit her with the bludger."

"Speaking of Rhion Malfoy, he's been waiting to see you. Why don't we bring him in?"

Dumbledore waved his hand and Madame Baroma nodded in acknowledgement. A few moments later Rhion entered the room. Did Rhion look just a little paler? Were his eyes a tiny bit stormier?

"I'm pleased to tell you, Mr. Malfoy, that it looks as if Helen will have no permanent injuries from the fall, thanks to Mr. Riddle here," Dumbledore said gravely.

Rhion ran a hand through his silvery hair, nodding slowly.

"Tell me, Mister Malfoy, what was the reason for beating that bludger at her?"

"It was completely unintentional, sir," Malfoy lied easily. "A Gryffindor Chaser was right in front of me one moment, and disappeared the next. The bludger flew past him and hit her in the back."

His words were met with silence.

"I see," said Dumbledore. It was obvious, at least to Tom, that Dumbledore did not believe a word of it.

"I have other business to attend to, then. Mr. Riddle, you have done a wonderful thing today. The Headmaster has agreed that you deserve a Medal of Magical Merit for your actions. I wish you a speedy recovery." There was still a questioning look in Dumbledore's eyes as he left.

Rhion and Tom remained, alone in silence. Sunlight streamed evasively through the window, which was veiled in curtains. It gave the room a dim, lazy sort of light that seemed to mute the strained silence in the room.

"Malfoy . . . what were you _thinking? _Of course I wanted revenge, but I didn't want you to _kill _the girl!"

"What do you care if she lives or dies?" Malfoy questioned aggressively. His silver hair looked as if it had been combed hastily aside, and his cheeks were flushed with indignation. It sufficed to say that he was not his usual calm and collected self.

"It's a lot of investigations and paperwork that the school and your family don't need, Malfoy, is what I care about," Tom said sternly. He didn't care at all, really.

"I didn't think it would _kill _her, to be honest," Malfoy said after a while. "I just wanted to give her a scare, you know, so that she knows not to mess with the Slytherins."

"I don't think I needed your help with that one, Malfoy," Tom said coldly. Something clicked in his brain. _Why are you sticking up for her? Why are you defending a Mudblood? _

"It's really all right, though, now that she's not dead. I find the whole situation kind of amusing. Your intentions were good, Malfoy, and that's all that matters," Tom said lightly. _No need to lose an important ally over a misunderstanding. _

"Thanks for getting me out of trouble, Riddle. You're not so bad," Malfoy said, which was as close to a compliment as a Malfoy would ever come. Tom nodded, and Rhion gave him a hasty goodbye but striding away. That left Tom alone in silence.

Tom nodded, feeling drowsy. Of course that was why he had caught her. He had not wanted to get himself into trouble, was all. He had done it to save himself, and no one else. _It isn't as if– as if . . ._

But he was already asleep.

* * *

" . . . the talk of the entire school, Helen," Tom heard a voice say from far away. He did not open his eyes. 

"What– Tom _Riddle?_" he heard Helen say incredulously.

"You should have seen it. That git Malfoy slammed a bludger at you, and you tumbled off of the balcony. Emma screamed, and you screamed, and everyone just watched in horror as you plummeted down. Tom was the highest up out of all the Quidditch players, but as soon as he saw you he dove down–"

" . . .you should've seen it . . ." another voice chimed in.

" . . .like a _rocket_ . . ." said yet another.

"Shhh! He dove down and caught you just before you landed, and then you both tumbled off his broom, and everyone was so worried, Helen, they thought you were both dead."

"Bravest thing I've ever seen a Slytherin do," he heard a deep male voice admit grudgingly. Chistoph Black, of course.

Tom opened his eyes to see three students clustered around Helen, backs turned. The look on her face was unforgettable. She looked horrified. Her expression was a mask of pain, and he knew it had nothing to do with her injuries.

The Gryffindors were clueless, as always. Emma grabbed her hand, saying, "You must be in so much pain. You need some rest. We'll leave you now."

Hermione nodded numbly as she watched them file out. Her eyes flickered to Tom for a moment and she closed them quickly. The door shut, and there was silence.

"Don't pretend you're asleep," Tom said after a few moments.

She opened her eyes finally, and looked at him. He stared back at her, curious as to why she had looked so pained when she had realized that he had saved her life.

"You caught me as I was falling," she said unnecessarily.

"That I did. It was my job, though."

"You say that about a lot of things, don't you?" Hermione retorted, a hint of anger in her voice. Suddenly she pushed herself up and leaned forward.

"Why do you have to make everything so _hard!_" she yelled, though she feared it would attract the attention of Madame Baroma. Her voice rose an octave. Tom raised an eyebrow. She was acting as if he had tried to murder her, not save her life.

"Can't you just mind your own business!" she persisted.

"What, and let you fall?"

"You don't have any idea what you're doing!" she cried, two angry tears pricking her eyes.

Tom suddenly realized what the problem was. She had a nasty bump on the side of her head, and it was obviously the sign of a concussion. She was not thinking straight.

"Go to sleep," he said dispassionately. _At least she isn't sniveling all over me, _Tom thought gratefully. But then again, he had never expected her to.

"Saving my life is _not _your _job_!" she said accusingly, her voice louder than ever. "So why? Why did you do it?"

"Let's get one thing straight here, Nestowe . . ."

But he broke off as Madame Baroma bustled in. Apparently, the school nurse had not heard anything of their conversation.

"My, look at this, both of you awake! That was a very brave thing you did, Mr. Riddle. Helen owes you thanks," Madame Baroma said merrily.

_Stop! _Tom wanted to scream. _I'm not a hero, I'm not brave, I'm not anything! I did it to save myself and Malfoy from getting into trouble!_

"Anyone would've done it," Tom said offhandedly, instead.

Madame Baroma scuttled around, taking their temperatures and checking their injuries.

"Well, Miss Nestowe, it looks as if you'll be here until at least tomorrow evening. No less than three days for you, Mr. Riddle. That hip is a tricky thing to heal, even with magic. Now I want both of you to drink this."

She handed them each a cup of steaming liquid, and Tom recognized it as _somnifier_ potion. He could not think, not now, and he needed an escape. He drank it quickly and felt himself immediately begin to doze off.

* * *

After Madame Baroma had left, Hermione set her cup down on the table. 

Tom had saved her life, and when she had found that out, all of her resolution had come crashing down.

She looked over at his peacefully sleeping form, taking in the dark hair and the pale skin and the imperious expression he wore even as he slept. She could kill him now, and she knew the situation could not be more perfect. He was already in critical condition, and her wand was right there . . . if she performed Avada Kedavra, there would be no way of telling if he had died of natural causes, or if someone had killed him. Even then, who would suspect that Helen Nestowe had killed Tom Riddle, the very person who had saved her own life?

But she could not, and that was the bottom line. _I could never kill someone who saved my own life._ And whether this was some Gryffindor code of honour or some law of nature or some feeling she had deep down inside, killing him was completely out of the question. If anything, she owed her life to him.

She had yelled at him because when she had realized that she could not kill him, she had also realized that she had let her friends down. Not just her friends, actually, but the world. The world would suffer Lord Voldemort's wrath because of a silly girl's silly feelings. If he had not saved her, perhaps she would have had the heart to finish him off.

Tears came to her eyes as she realized that she had no idea what to do. She looked at Tom, and for once he did not look haunted or calculating or powerful. Hermione agreed that Emma definitely had not been wrong about Tom Riddle's looks. He was classically good looking, and had a statuesque beauty about him that could not be matched.

Everything about Tom was tainted by the fact that she had seen him kill mercilessly, however. No amount of beauty could make up for the things he had done, the things he would do. _How did someone so wonderful become so . . . ?_ He was brilliant, gorgeous, witty, charming, and had saved her life. She felt an odd flip in her stomach when she looked at him.

_Why _did _he save my life?_ She wondered. _The last thing I did, in fact, was slap him across the face as hard as I could. I don't buy it for a moment that it was 'his job' And if it wasn't his job, then what did he think he was doing?_

His face was always so blank, his expression so frigid, that she could figure anything out about him. What was he feeling?

Suddenly the impression came to her that he felt nothing. If that was the truth, then Tom Riddle was hopeless.

* * *

Tom stirred groggily, wondering where he was. He opened his eyes, and they were met by blackness. _Am I dead? _He wondered vaguely. His eyes began adjusting, and he remembered that he was in the hospital wing. There were no lights on, but the blinds were drawn back, and moonlight spilled into the room, bathing its inhabitants in a pearly, splendid luminescence. 

Tom looked over at Helen. Several moonbeams glanced off of her honey brown locks, highlighting the parts that framed her face. Her face, half bathed in shadow, was a mixture of light and darkness. Dark, full lips, thick lashes, and smooth pale cheekbones glowed in the starlight.

Momentarily, she stirred. She opened her eyes, and they seemed strange and troubled in the darkness that enveloped them both. He took his eyes off of her, and sipped some water from the cup by his bedside.

She seemed surprised to find him awake also. Their eyes met for a moment, hers large and a bit apprehensive, his like midnight black ice chips, impenetrable.

"Couldn't sleep?" she asked quietly. Tom looked away and said nothing. She sighed, and realized what a relief it was not to look at him as a victim.

"I guess I never really thanked you for saving my life," Hermione said softly.

"Quite the contrary," Tom replied wryly. He did not seem hurt by it. He was merely stating an observation.

"Thanks, then. There's not a lot of people who would do that for me."

_Any more. You killed them all. _But she would leave that part unspoken.

To her surprise, he did not immediately jump to defend himself. There was silence for almost a minute before Tom spoke.

"I suppose I should tell you the truth."

_The truth? _Hermione's heart began pounding. She waited, holding her breath.

"You see . . . I basically _told _Malfoy to hit you with that bludger," Tom said blankly. A feeling like ice ran through Hermione.

"You . . . told him?"

"Well, I wanted revenge on you, sort of, for when you'd slapped me. I wanted to show you your place. I told Malfoy about it, and he basically took revenge into his own hands. The only reason I caught you was to get Malfoy and myself out of trouble. So don't think it's some heroic–"

"I never did," she said icily. _I should have known. Of course he only did it for himself. How did I ever convince myself otherwise?_

"You said earlier that I didn't know you very well," Hermione continued coldly. "Well, I do. At least, well enough to understand that you'd stop at _nothing_ to become the most powerful wizard in the world. Not even killing innocent people, and much less the Dark Arts ."

Tom looked at her.

"You don't understand. I am one of the only Half-bloods in Slytherin. I had to do absolutely anything I could to prove myself to them. To prove that I belonged. Dark Arts just happened to be the way to do that," he said, feeling suddenly smothered in heat. Why was he telling her this? It was as if he was under Veritaserum.

"But can't you see that Dark Arts are evil? Can't you see that they were only created to hurt people?"

Tom couldn't help wondering why she was fixated on this topic, so he continued talking.

"Good . . . evil . . . those are just words people use to justify their actions. What _is _the 'right thing'? No one ever seems to know, do they? That's because it doesn't exist. People, in the end, only do what's best for them. I grew up in a place where 'the right thing' was what would help me survive. Dark Arts aren't evil to me. Why would they be if they helped me survive? Good and evil are essentially the same thing. In the end, I believe people are all the same too. People only do what's best for them."

And she wished whole heartedly that she could say, no, Tom, it isn't true, there _are_ good people and there are bad people and it's easy to distinguish what is right from what is wrong, because, Tom, I've stood alongside Harry Potter all of my life and he has _always_ done the right thing, but none of it would have been true. Harry was good and wonderful and selfless, but even _he_ had a dark side to him, and she had seen it come out every so often, when he thought that no one was watching.

Harry, the Hero of the Light, the Treasure of the Good, was evil to some extent. Everyone was. And simultaneously she realized that Tom Riddle, Future Lord of the Dark, had to be good, to some extent. In fact, why did people label others as 'good' or 'evil'? She realized blatantly that everyone was a subtle mixture of the two.

_People only do what's best for them._

She wished it was untrue. Good and evil were perhaps illusions created by wistful thinkers. Tom had never had parents to instill traditional morals and values into him. He'd had to teach himself. He was the most brilliant thinker of his time, and he had come up with this flawless logic that, ultimately, gave him power to do what ordinary men would never dream of.

"I see," she murmured quietly. Tom was extremely surprised at her reaction, though he only nodded. Where was the opposition, where were the counter arguments, where was the doubt? No one had ever agreed with him. _Then again, _he realized, _I've never talked to anyone about this._

Hermione paused for a moment. "So catching me . . . was that 'right?'"

And then his face seemed to shut down. His eyes became blank and emotionless. "Catching you . . . it helped me, so of course it was right."

But for the first time she had ever known, there was a hint of uncertainty in his voice.

As Hermione drifted off to sleep, she remembered his words, and wondered.

Was Tom inherently dark, or had he become that way? Was he destined to be Lord Voldemort, or had certain situations made him who he was? Where was it possible to draw the line between whom a person _was_ and whom a person was _meant _to be?

The last thing she remembered thinking was that Tom Riddle reminded her undeniably of Harry Potter.

((A.N. So how are Tom and Hermione coming along? And why in the world did heartless Tom save Hermione? Review!))


	9. Empty Space

((A.N. Chapter 8, finally here! My poor poor readers, I've taken way more than the usual five days to update! There is no excuse for it and I am very sorry. Hopefully I'll be able to stay up in the future. Thank you very, very much to **Kou' Shun'u, Euphonium Gurl0, shedraconis, Lady Moofin, tickle the dragon, sexy-jess, ydole3343, divinething, Sarah09, Sarah, Amy Lee, Loriliant Angelisa Snape, Pleure**(big thanks for the constructive criticism), **Black-rose23, June **(big thanks), **steffy potter, Magic and Sparkle, Quinn, Reader972, SaTiNk06, justareader, Artemis1000, Bubble gum girl, **and **steph.** What would I do without you all? Hope you enjoy the chapter, because things start... happening. ;D And a big thanks to **Drama Shethan, **my beta, as always! Review when you are finished, I love to hear it!))

_Time does not **change** us. It just **unfolds** us._

— _Max Frisch _

* * *

Chapter 8: Empty Space 

Tom woke up to the sound of a loud, chirpy voice.

"Now, now, Miss Nestowe, don't be so hasty! You took a strong blow to the head, and you need time to heal!" Madame Baroma clucked apprehensively.

"Madame, I can and will sleep in my own dormitory tonight! It's nearly time for dinner and I'm famished. Let me walk down to the Great Hall. I feel as if I could run the length of the Quidditch Pitch!"

"Run? You will do _no such thing!_" Madame Baroma said angrily. There was a moment of silence before the nurse said, "As for a walk, I suppose that wouldn't hurt. But promise to come back up here after dinner and check in with me."

Tom wrenched his eyes painfully open, squinting as the bright light hit them.

"And look who else is up!" the nurse chirruped, scuttling over to Tom's bed. Her high voice was making him nauseous. He glanced at Helen, who was pulling on her stockings. "How do you feel? Better? Worse?" the nurse uttered in the same whiny voice.

_Better if you were not here. _"Fine," he lied hastily. "I feel great!" He actually felt like puking, but he would do anything to get out of the bed.

Madame Baroma put her hands on her stout hips. "Don't think you're leaving here any sooner than tomorrow afternoon, Mr. Riddle. Now excuse me, I have to look after my other patients. I've done most of your magical healing while you were asleep, and it may make you a little nauseous. I'll bring you dinner in thirty minutes, though, if you want it."

Tom could not decide which made him sicker; the idea of eating dinner or fact that he hadn't eaten for two and a half days. He heard the door click shut, and realized he was alone with Helen, who was slipping on her loafers.

"Feeling any better?" Helen asked after a while.

"Why do _you _care?" Tom questioned, looking away coldly. He could not have Helen thinking that they were friends, because, in all honesty, they were not. He did not like her at all. In fact, he very nearly hated her for all that she had put him through.

"Why do I care? You nearly killed yourself to save my life, that's why," Helen replied icily.

"For the last time, I didn't do it for you! You're nothing to me, why can't you get that through your head? Just do me a favour and sod off, Nestowe. One more moment of hearing your voice is going to push me over the edge," Tom said in a deadly calm voice. "Mudblood."

He watched as something in Helen's eyes snapped. She stood up, coming closer to his bed until she was towering over him.

"I've thought a lot about you and about how you act, and you know what? You're _afraid, _Tom Riddle!"

"I'm not afraid of anything," Tom said quietly. And to him, it was the truth.

"Oh, yes you are! You're a coward!" Helen replied, her eyes seething with pent up malice. "Every time I try to get just a little bit closer to you, you come up with some witty insult that makes me hate you even more. You know why? You're afraid! You're afraid that if you lean on anyone but _yourself_, you'll fall! You're afraid that if you confide in anyone but _yourself_, you'll get hurt! In fact, you're afraid of your own feelings. You _didn't _catch me just to save Malfoy, but you can't even admit the real reason to yourself . . . You know what you're most afraid of, though? This!"

And she leaned down and pressed her lips against his. A feeling like fire overtook him, and suddenly all of the pain and all of the anger faded into that moment, and he drew her in closer.

To Helen, his lips were icy and solid, but so wonderfully alluring that she did not mind when he deepened the kiss, pressing his lips to hers more firmly and drawing her forward.

After a moment, she pulled away from the wonderful, terrible thing that had just happened. She stared at him for a few breathless moments.

Her eyes were wide, and her cheeks were flushed dramatically. Helen herself looked surprised at what she had done.

Helen turned on her heel and hastened out the door.

For the first time in his life, Tom Riddle found himself speechless.

* * *

Dumbledore turned to Minerva, a contemplative expression on his face. 

"You were at the Quidditch match, Minerva. When the Malfoy boy hit Helen Nestowe, did that look like an accident?"

Minerva narrowed her hazel eyes in contempt. "Certainly not! He smashed the bludger right at her! I was watching."

"And Riddle . . ." Dumbledore continued. "Why do you think he caught her?"

At this, Minerva was silent. Finally she replied, "I don't know, Albus. I do know I've never seen a boy so bent on catching anything. A professional Quidditch player couldn't have caught that girl in time, but he did."

Dumbledore nodded, more confused than he had ever been. Tom Riddle's actions had been so against everything Dumbledore knew about him, so against every action that he had ever seen from Tom.

In fact, if he did not know better, he would have guessed that Tom held a spark for Helen Nestowe.

* * *

"Tom!" 

He stared blankly ahead, his eyes unfocused as he made his way down the hall.

"Hey, _Riddle!_"

He felt nauseous, and his head was spinning wildly, a thousand thoughts racking his brain.

"_Tom Marvolo Riddle!_"

"Don't call me that," Tom said absently as he turned to face the girl yelling at him. Elizabeth Walker caught up to him, huffing and puffing from running.

"Gee, what's up with you, Tom? Didn't you hear me?"

She had long red hair, green eyes, and sharp, pale cheekbones that gave her a haughty air. She was in Ravenclaw, but she knew Tom because she was Head Girl, and was the only one in the school that came close to matching his intellect. In reality, she was nowhere close to his level of genius.

"Thinking," Tom said dismissively, and the look on his face made her quickly decide to drop the subject. She sighed and placed a hand on her hip.

"Well, I wanted to ask you if you'd already planned the Halloween Feast."

"Why?" Tom snipped. He did not feel like dealing with Elizabeth or Halloween at the moment.

"Because I wanted to help you plan it. Here's my idea . . . a masquerade ball on the Quidditch pitch! It's a full moon this Halloween, see, and I thought that a moonlight masquerade would be really exciting."

"Yeah, sure," Tom said offhandedly. He really could not care less about the stupid Halloween Ball.

"Listen, Tom . . . why don't I just take over the planning of this thing? I'm sure Dippet wouldn't mind, and I want to do it myself."

"Be my guest," Tom said quickly, relieved to have one burden taken off of his shoulders. He turned around and walked away without another word.

"Bye, then," he heard her indignant voice mutter before she walked away.

Tom went down the stony path to his dormitory, grabbed and Arithmancy book, and sat down in a hard backed chair. He slammed the book open, and looked at it resolutely.

"_You're afraid, Tom Riddle."_

**_Trigon Theorem. Three even numbers added consecutively to the forth odd number create a Gauntlet Circle, or a formula for the protection of the bearer_.**

"_You're afraid that if you lean on anyone but yourself, you'll fall!"_

_**The Trigon Theorem is applicable to all forms of Arithmancy save amulets, when it is impossible to magically combine three consecutive even numbers.**_

"_You know what you're most afraid of, though? . . . This!"_

Tom ran a hand through his hair and tried to take a deep breath, but found his lungs burning. Perhaps it was because he had left the hospital without full healing (he would do it himself later), but he was sure the pounding of his heart was something completely different.

Tom remembered the kiss, like a bright burning star in an endless black sky. He had kissed girls before, but he had never felt so awake, so incinerating, so alive. He was surprised when he realized he wanted more than that kiss. Much more.

Next, he thought about her words. He knew that no matter how many times he tried to convince himself that she was wrong, in the end she was undeniably correct. He _was _afraid. _But is it so wrong not to trust anyone but myself? It's not wrong. It's better. While everyone around me gets his heart broken and his trust betrayed, I have found a way to become indestructible. No one can hurt me._

Finally, Tom Riddle, whom was called fearless by all of those who knew him, admitted to himself that he was afraid. He was afraid of whatever it was that Helen represented, though what that was he had yet to find out. And he had told himself over and over again that he did not need friends, that he did notneed trust, that he did not need _her. _But Helen's presence filled a space that he had never known was empty, and now he saw this huge, gaping hole where _something _was supposed to be.

And finally, he knew that Helen was the only one that could fill the emptiness.

(( A.N. An action packed chapter, to say the least, the next one even more promising, with Tom and Hermione's steadily growing realationship and a rumoured "Moonlight Masquerade". So what do you think? Review!))


	10. Silver Slippers and Peacock Hats

((Chapter 9. I'm late on updating once again. I know. Sorry. This is a short little transition chapter that sort of marks the halfway point in the story. So, we're half finished. Thanks to **steffypotter, bloodendkisses, The Paymaster, Milka-Weasley, yodle3343, silver gaze, Magic and Sparkle, ramones4me, Mitsuki Ashya, reader972, EuphoniumGurl0, Lion Eyes **(I like the new name!), **Prongsette, June, Jay Ficlover **(thank you for the idea, it's great), **sexy-jess, BabyGooGoo2, Black-rose23, avider, ix.dovienya.xi, Kou Shun'u, redtiger, draco rules, drake, tom rulz, Timmy, apHiay, Lady Moofin, Tears-That-Fall, Amerise Rei, Oliver's Quidditch Crazy**(for all nine reviews lol!)**, Gemini Queen **(my sign too!), **tickle the dragon, Quill of the Lark **(thanks to the quotes, they're wonderful), and **Miss Elvira Dark. **Beautiful, amazing, fantastic reviews from all of you! Thank you to my beta **Drama Shethan, **as always. Hope you enjoy the chapter...;D))

_Have you ever been in love? Horrible, isn't it? It makes you so **vulnerable**. It opens your chest and your heart and it means someone can get inside you and mess you up. You build up all these defenses. You build up this whole **armor**, for years, so nothing can hurt you, then one **stupid person**, no different from any other stupid person, wanders into your stupid life . . ._

_Rose Walker_

* * *

Chapter 9: Silver Slippers and Peacock... Hats 

"I'm so excited!" Emma squealed as she crashed into the girl's dormitory. A crumpled piece of paper was clutched precariously in her hands. A few of the girls looked up or raised an eyebrow, waiting for her to speak.

"We're having a masquerade ball! It's in two days time, on Halloween night! It will be on the Quidditch pitch, under a full moon. Isn't it wonderful?"

The room erupted into a chattering buzz, and Hermione found that she could barely hear herself think. She was extremely surprised that Halloween was only in two days time. It seemed like she had arrived yesterday. _Have I really been in the past for two months?_

It was not as if she had been ignoring the fact that she had to find a way back. From the Restricted Section she had found one of the lesser known books by Nicolas Flamel, which included some of his time travel theories. She had finally come to the chapter in which Flamel wrote about traveling back farther than a few days.

_Traveling back weeks, months, or even years into the past theoretically defies the essence of time. This is why it has not been attempted by modern day wizards and probably never will be. In the event that a wizard does travel back years in time, we see a very odd loophole occur. Mathematically and theoretically, this occurrence is possible, but realistically perhaps is impossible. It is called the Rumineus Theory, and is completely irreversible. The idea behind it is that time **itself** freezes until the bearer . . ._

"Hey!" Hermione yelped as Emma grabbed the book out of her hands.

"C'mon, stop studying! So who are you _going _with? What are you going to wear?"

"Oh, I . . ." Hermione honestly had never considered going to the Ball. She had not even expected to be there. "I'm not sure."

"Oh, _Helen,_" Emma said, exasperated. The other girls looked over in interest. "You're always so reserved, you never do anything fun, you never even _try _to look good . . . you're going to this ball, and we're going to dress you up properly."

At this suggestion, all of Helen's roommates crowded around her, and she caught garbles like, "–if we bring out your eyes a bit–" or "– you'd look stunning in a low-cut dress–" and "– never noticed how _pretty _you could be–"

"Hm," said Emma contemplatively. "If we just do something with your hair . . . curl it perhaps?"

Hermione drew away from Emma at this comment, beginning to think that the whole idea was a disaster in the making. "Now, really, Emma, I don't feel like going–"

"Nonsense!" a girl named Katie intoned. "You'll love it. There's no way you're not coming!"

Hermione shook her head, but resigned herself to their insignificant chattering. It had been hard to concentrate on anything lately. There was always a niggling at the back of her mind, waiting to push its way up to the surface when she least expected it . . .

_What have I done? _She thought wildly. She had kissed _him_. Tom Riddle. Lord Voldemort. The thought of the latter repulsed her, because she could not see Tom Riddle and Voldemort as the same person. _What happened to him? Or rather, what will happen to him? _she wondered desperately. _How could someone so smart, so charming, so extraordinary, become that monster in the forest clearing? _Hermione chewed her bottom lip, a habit she had required lately.

"Helen!"

"Yes?" she questioned edgily, her head snapping up.

"You looked worried there for a moment . . . lavender slippers won't be a problem, will they?"

"Oh, um . . . no. Yes! Er, I mean . . . I was thinking silver, actually."

"You'll look gorgeous, Helen, you just wait."

* * *

" I look _ridiculous_," Minerva spat at Dumbledore as she gazed at herself in the mirror. 

He tried to keep the amusement out of his voice as he said, "I, for one, think you look quite stunning . . . in a ridiculous sort of way."

She was wearing a peacock-feathered hat and an overly large cashmere scarf in the hue of blinding aquamarine. She whirled around to face him, her hazel eyes flashing. "Remind me again why I am condemned to wearing this terrible excuse of an outfit for my audience with the _Minister of Magic himself?_"

"I am telling you, Minerva, he has a bit of a fetish for peacock hats. It will prove extremely beneficial in landing the position at Beauxbatons that you want when he sees you in that . . . that . . ." he stopped, apparently unsure what to _call _the thing on her head. Now that he rethought it, _hat_ was hardly the word . . .

"And this hideously radiant scarf? What about that?"

By this time Dumbledore was shaking with mirth. "Adds a nice accent to the color scheme," he said, holding up his thumb and forefinger together.

"Argh!" she cried, ripping the scarf off and throwing it down in frustration. "You're terrible, Albus Dumbledore!" but all the same she was smiling. Dumbledore responded by checking his wristwatch.

"You're going to be late," Dumbledore said in mock seriousness. "It is never good to be late for a job interview."

"I'm going!" she said, dashing over to look in the mirror one last time, and grimacing. Next, she ran over to where the port key was, and placed her hand on it, checking her watch.

"Good luck!" Dumbledore said with a wink. She was glaring at him as she disappeared.

Absently, Dumbledore wondered what would happen when the Minister of Magic saw one of the brightest young witches of the age in a ridiculous peacock . . . _hat._

Too bad the Minister did not _really _have a fetish for them.

* * *

"Hey, Marvolo," a slick voice whispered from Tom's left. 

"Don't call me that," Tom replied in an equally low voice. They were in History of Magic, and Tom was trying not to fall asleep. He had not slept in a very long while.

"Why not?" Joseph Nott said with an easy grin. "Marvolo's got a nice ring to it. Don't you think, Marvolo?"

Tom turned to face Joseph, hard black eyes boring into the other boy's light blue ones. "I _said, _don't _call _me that."

If there was one thing Tom hated more than Muggles, it was his own name. It was the name of a coward, a failure, a flake. It was the name of his father. His father, who had abandoned him after his mother had died. His father, whom Tom had killed out of pure rage only the summer before. He had never hated his father; hate was too good a feeling to waste on his father. Tom was numb where his father was concerned. He refused to waste the energy hating Tom Riddle Sr.

"Okay, okay," Nott said hastily. "You're scary sometimes. You know that? You get this blank, cold look on your face that's much worse than a glare or a frown . . ."

"I just . . ." Tom trailed off. "I've made up a new name for myself."

Tom had been thinking about having another name for a long time. Not his father's despicable name, but his own name. The name he had _earned _for himself.

"What is it, then?" asked Nott.

" . . . Voldemort," Tom said after a moment. Just Voldemort, for now, he supposed.

"Voldemort? What kind of name it that? How absurd!" Nott said with a casual laugh.

At that moment, Tom's blood boiled. _You wait, Nott, _he thought murderously. _One of these days, you will fear that name like nothing else. _

_The whole world will fear to speak that name. _

((A.N. So the Masquerade Ball is scheduled for next chapter . . . what do you think will happen there? And do Dumbly and Minerva have something going on? Stay tuned and review!))


	11. Moonlight Masquerade, Part I

((A.N. Chapter 10. At last, the Moonlight Masquerade arrives! The ball will be split up into two chapters because it is very long. Thanks to **EuphoniumGurl0, Oliver's Quidditch Crazy, Deepseadolphin, sexy-jess, Loriliant Angelisa Snape **(breathe, girl!), **b16, ydole3343, Quill of the Lark, Magic and Sparkle, Black-rose23, s.halliubll24, Jay Ficlover **(wow you have some great ideas... do you write fanfiction of your own?), **cocovanilla, Milka-Weasely, Amerise Rei **(the answer to your question is YES, and I am so glad that someone caught on), **Mitsuki Ashya, BabyGooGoo2, tom riddle rulz, silver gaze, blue ice2, innocenteen **( Thank you, I adore your story PUREBLOOD also, I'm voting for it at Dangerous Liasons! ;D), **Tears-That-Fall, jaded emerald, steffy potter, **and **reader972. **I am almost at gasps 200 reviews! You guys, that's crazy! I never expected this many at all... thank you so much! As always these chapters would have millions of mistakes if it weren't for **DramaShethan, **so thank you too! Enjoy:D))

_Time is too slow for those who wait, too swift for those who fear, too long for those who grieve, too short for those who rejoice, but for those who **love**, **time** is** eternity**._

– Henry Van Dyke

* * *

Chapter 10: Moonlight Masquerade 

"Just _ask _him," Hermione said, exasperated. "Merlin knows he's too stubborn to ask you." She glanced in Christoph's direction.

Emma looked at Hermione as if she had just suggested diving off a thousand-foot cliff.

"Helen, you can't just _ask _a boy. That isn't how it works, boys ask girls," Emma explained slowly.

_Not in my decade, _Hermione was tempted to say. Instead she uttered, "Not in Germany. In Germany, it's the other way around."

"Does this look like Germany to you?" Emma trilled.

"You're just making excuses and you know it."

"Am _not!_"

"Then go over there and bloody _ask _him!"

Hermione realized suddenly how loud she had been talking. The whole common room, in fact, was fascinated with the conversation of the two girls. Hermione flushed scarlet. What had happened to lying low? After people had looked away, Emma crossed her arms stubbornly.

"I won't," Emma said crossly. Hermione was reminded forcefully of herself and Ron in fourth year.

"Fine. In that case, you're going alone."

Emma frowned. "Why does Christoph have to be so bloody stubborn?"

"Not any more stubborn than you," Hermione intoned wearily.

"You're no help," Emma retorted, and stomped off to the dormitories.

Sighing, Hermione turned back to her book. If she had taken time to look in the mirror at all, she would have seen a pale, tired face staring back at her. There were dark blue circles under her eyes, and her lips were drawn tightly. Her cheekbones were terribly articulated, and her face seemed hollow, strained somehow.

All in all, she looked sickly, and she had a feeling it was from worry. She still had not found a way to get back, and she had a growing suspicion that something was terribly wrong. She was messing around with time as no wizard ever had; the consequences on the future could be devastating. She could sleep very little, if at all, and there was no escaping from the anxiety she felt. There was something aside from worry, too. Something that she did not want to face.

Harry had once told her a bit about Tom when the Slytherin was young. Apparently, he had lived in a Muggle orphanage until the age of eleven, his father having abandoned him. Then, he had come to Hogwarts and been sorted into Slytherin. Based on those facts, Tom had never in his life had someone that he could trust. Maybe it was not one event that had unhinged him, per say, but rather the fact that he had never trusted, much less loved, anyone.

Hermione thought about this for a moment, carefully, and from a logical point of view.

And suddenly, she wondered if there was a way to save him. To save him from becoming the heartless, merciless tyrant that he was destined to become. He was so cold, and so terribly distant, that Hermione wondered if there was anything left of him to save. Did he have a heart, a soul? Or was he already too far gone to help?

But Hermione already knew the answer. She had found it in the kiss.

The truth was, somewhere deep down inside Tom, there was a thing that resembled a heart. It had almost withered to nothing, and it was frozen solid, but it was there.

A voice in her head told Hermione that it would not be there for much longer if something was not done.

Though she did not realize it at the time, there was some essential part of Hermione that desperately wanted to reach his heart, not because the Wizarding world depended on it, but because by some twisted scheme of fate, she was falling for him too.

* * *

Sighing, Tom flipped through the pages of his diary, realizing that it was almost full. So many memories had been poured into that diary, so much pain. It was not as if Tom had written all of his troubles or feelings in the diary. He had recorded precisely what had happened each day, but only because with it he had been creating an incantation that ensured that if he died, he would live on through his memories. Literally. 

He flipped back to the very first day he had written in it, his first year at Hogwarts. The words brought back memories that cut into his veins like icy knives. Tom had arrived at Hogwarts, ragged and miserable and stubborn and ambitious. In his heart he had carried a secret, desperate hope that perhaps things at Hogwarts would be better than at the orphanage. He had arrived only to find that things were not better. He had been sorted into Slytherin, and was an orphan half-blood among rich Purebloods. He was shunned once again, tossed aside for something he had no control over. For being _who he was._

The pages of the diary fluttered again, and Tom found himself in second year, when he had traced his mother's lineage back to discover that he was a direct descendent of Salazar Slytherin. He had begun searching through old manuscripts, and had found a multitude of prophesies concerning the 'Heir of Slytherin.' He had read about how he would open the legendary Chamber of Secrets. He had read about how he would release a terror that had been a thousand years dormant to the world. He had read about how, through him, Salazar Slytherin would live again.

He was descended directly from Slytherin . . . who else could these prophecies be alluding to but Tom Riddle?

Tom had realized then, at a mere twelve years of age, that his whole life had been planned out for him. Who he was, who he _would be, _had been decided long before his birth. He was to be Lord Voldemort. It was his _destiny. _

And all of his life before that Tom had believed that _choices _were what sculpted a man's future. He had found, in the end, that he was tied to this one destiny, this one inevitable fate that he would never be able to change.

Cold hatred for the world grew in him then, hatred for a world that had expected him to be evil and terrible and hateful. A world that had not even given him a chance for redemption.

So what else was there to do but to embrace this fate, this destiny, this dormant evil within him?

For a moment, Tom was tempted to throw the diary into the flames. He wanted to burn his past away so much, but he paused and looked down at the leather bound cover.

Carefully, he tucked it into a niche on the shelf, thinking that perhaps it would come in handy later on.

* * *

The night of the masquerade dawned cold and clear. At eight o'clock, the moon rose sharply about the peaks of the Forbidden Forest, illuminating the turrets of the castle in a pearly white splendor. 

In the Gryffindor common room, girls were running back and forth from the bathrooms, their hair half done and with dresses in their arms. Boys were either up in their dormitories showering and dressing, or in the common room, lounging around rather nervously.

Emma tapped her foot anxiously on the stone floor, wondering how much time they had left to prepare. After what seemed like hours, Hermione emerged from her room, face aglow like the setting sun.

"I look absolutely _ridiculous,_" she hissed at Emma, unknowingly mirroring Minerva's words. The other girl only smiled.

"And how, exactly, do you look ridiculous?"

"This dress!" Hermione burst. "It's so . . . so . . ." she gestured with her arms, at a loss for words.

"So not you? So unstuffy? So revealing? I know," Emma said, as Hermione nodded vehemently. "It's brilliant."

The dress was not that provocative, Hermione decided. But for the girl who was always in baggy jumpers and trousers, the dress was a bit of a stretch. Emma and the other girls had insisted on curling her hair and doing her makeup, also. Hermione finally dawned a pair of strapless heels, and descended down the stairs with Emma.

_Why are you even going? _Hermione chastised herself, but deep down she already knew the answer.

When they reached the common room, they were greeted by gasps and gushes about how wonderful they looked. The girls congratulated themselves on a job well done when they saw Hermione.

Emma had chosen a sweeping red dress that sparkled and glinted in the firelight, and her dark hair was pulled into a sleek bun. She really did look amazing. The girls were most shocked by Hermione's appearance, though.

"Is that _you, _Helen? My gosh, you look gorgeous!"

"I don't even recognize you . . ."

"Your hair is _perfect–_"

"I feel so ridiculous," Hermione said after a few moments, flushing. "I don't even have a date."

"Who said you didn't have a date?" a voice at her side sounded. She looked to see Christoph Black at her shoulder, grinning playfully. Her face paled quickly.

"Technically, I _do _have a date. He just isn't here right now. He's in Ravenclaw," she invented quickly. "But . . . I don't think Emma does."

"Does what?" Christoph asked, obviously distracted.

"Have a date," Hermione repeated patiently. Christoph looked over at Emma, and they glared at each other for a few moments until Christoph flushed a wonderful shade of magenta.

"I suppose I could escort you down," he said quickly.

"I suppose you could," Emma said, a bit haughtily.

Christoph looked dashing; he wore a deep crimson tunic, and a black cape with silver lining. Hermione noticed that his mask covered his face and hair completely. Emma's mask was red and feathery, and when she put it on there was no way of telling who was behind it. Hermione's was black silk, and her hair was covered by a thin satin veil.

As she and her friends left the common room and made their way down to the Quidditch pitch, they encountered many more mysterious figures in masks. It was a night when all house rivalries were forced to be forgotten.

Hermione gasped when she saw the Quidditch pitch. It was unrecognizable, really. The stands and hoops seemed to have disappeared, which left only a large, grassy expanse of land. Light emanated from what looked like fireflies twittering around, but on closer inspection proved to be fairies. Some were periwinkle blue, or rosemary pink. Others were lily green, and they flitted about, tiny spots of light in the darkness all around. Silver and gold ribbons were suspended in midair, showering tiny shooting stars on couples as they walked by.

And then there was the moonlight, intensified tenfold by a charm around the Quidditch pitch. Unearthly figures in fanciful dresses or cloaks danced under its silver white gleam. Moonlight poured onto the masqueraders like a waterfall of mercury, drenching the entire scene in a fantastic silver glow. To Hermione it was beautiful in a breathtaking, unreal sort of way.

Her attention was drawn to a group of masqueraders walking past them. The leader was dressed in green and black, and had a dominant air about him. Hermione immediately knew it was Tom and his gang of Slytherins. He walked right by without even glancing at her, and she felt her stomach flip.

"I'm going to go find my date," Hermione said to Christoph and Emma, anxious to give them some privacy. They nodded before going off to dance.

Hermione made her way to the punch bowl, pouring herself a drink and glancing around. She noticed that many of the boys were eyeing her speculatively, perhaps working up the courage to ask her to dance.

* * *

Tom saw her from across the Quidditch pitch, and knew that it was Helen he was looking at. She did not need to remove her mask for him to see that; it was in the way she walked and held herself and looked around. And he thought she was by far the most beautiful girl there. 

Her gown was the color of twilight. It was that purple pinkish hue just before the midnight blue of evening falls. The soft grayish pink of a summer sky at dawn, mixed with the pearlescent purple of a setting sun. The dress cut off at the shoulder, with translucent veil sleeves that fell gracefully as folds of mist. The cut was slim and simple, made of a gauzy material that fell perfectly. Her hair was curled, and cascaded down her back like a waterfall of so many golden hues. She looked soft, alluring, like an angel in the sunset.

He wanted to ask her to dance, but thought better of it. He already had a pretty girl on his arm (he couldn't count the number of girls that had pleaded for an invite), and this date did not slap him across the face whenever she felt like it. This date did not yell at him and he did not make things explode around her. This date did not do funny things with his stomach, or make him feel out of control. She was safe. Helen was not.

* * *

Hermione, in the middle of her second dance, looked up to see another boy standing there. She quickly realized it was Christoph, from his red tunic and boots. 

"Do you mind if I cut in?" he asked the anonymous boy dancing with her. His voice was deeper than usual, and colder.

"Not at all," the other boy said grudgingly. He let go of Hermione a bit reluctantly, and she frowned. It was not at all like Christoph to cut in on other people's dances. _What if he likes me? _She thought with a start. _Oh no!_

"Would you like to dance?" he asked her, no trace of the usual grin on his face. She could not see it very well under the mask, though. Once again, his voice sounded more mature. Perhaps he was nervous.

"I don't see why not," Hermione said after a moment, and wrapped her arms around his shoulders. He encircled her waist with his hands.

Hermione noticed how he smelled immediately. It was not how she had expected Christoph Black to smell. He smelled like cloves and pine and sharpness, a scent that did not remind her of Christoph at all.

"I'm . . . sorry. About earlier," he said quietly. Hermione assumed he was talking about the situation with Emma. _Why does he like me, and not her? _Hermione thought desperately.

"Look . . ." she started, as nicely as possible, "We'll always be really great friends, but I don't like you in _that_ way, if you know what I mean."

Immediately he went rigid in her arms, and a terrifying cold began radiating from him. She had not thought he would take it this terribly. Christoph was an easygoing person.

"I'm sorry," she said apologetically. "It's just . . . I like someone else."

"Who?" rasped Christoph, his voice colder than ever. What was wrong with him?

"I . . . I can't say. He's someone, well, very different from you . . ."

Now she knew something was wrong. He had taken hold of her wrists and his hands were icy cold.

"So all of this time . . . it's just been–" his voice was like a thousand needles in her veins.

"Christoph, I–"

And suddenly all of the tension went out of him. He seemed limp in comparison to the tenseness in him a few minutes ago.

"We need to take a walk," he said quietly. Hermione frowned, not sure that she wanted to go anywhere with him. He had acted so hurt, but it was odd, because Christoph and Hermione had never been anything but friends in the first place.

"Alright," she agreed reluctantly. She had the feeling that something was up.

They went away from the Quidditch pitch and pixie fairies, eventually finding themselves in a rose garden, with only the moon for light. Christoph stopped walking, and looked for a moment at the bushes. He brushed his fingers against a crimson red rose ever so lightly.

"Intriguing, isn't it?" he intoned softly. "How sad that its beauty is such a fleeting thing. Every moment it is dying little bit more. This crimson rose will wilt in eternity's heartbeat, and will be forgotten even faster. Yet its beauty seems never-ending in this moment. How tragic that this rose was born to perish."

Something was immediately _wrong. _Christoph was not romantic or alluring or cold. Christoph was nothing like the boy standing in front of her.

"Christoph–" she said, but he was staring at her in a disconcerting way. The only person who ever stared at her like that was . . .

He pulled off his mask, and Hermione gasped in surprise. It was not Christoph Black, but Tom Riddle who stared back.

((A.N. Dun dun dun! Now be honest with me here... how many of you _didn't _know that it was Tom Riddle all along? Review.))


	12. Moonlight Masquerade, Part II

((A.N. Chapter 11. Finally here, sorry for the delay. This is kind of an extension of the chapter Moonlight Masquerade, which I chopped in half because it was getting too long. A lot of important information and foreshadowing in this chapter, so... watch out for that. I almost had a heart attack. 250 reviews! I didn't even expect 100 for this story! I don't know what to say except thank you to everyone who reviewed, which includes **Miss Cleo, SpiritWell **(it was Emma wearing the read dress, btw), **Klumsee, EuphoniumGurl0** (there are 17 chapters to this story), **Lion Eyes, LolaQ, kittykatekat, sexy-jess, flaming-amber, Loriliant Angelisa Snape **(I'm scared!), **b16, Liz, Mitsuki Ashya, caillion, ydole3343, Avanell, Olivers Quidditch Crazy, lovelyreviewerperson, tomriddlerulz, An Anti-Sheep Cheese muffin **(love the name), **Nelly-Welly, Jay Ficlover, Tathing, BabyGooGoo2, Jen, ContessMel, Tears-That-Fall, Katie&Sev4ever, her x emo x tears, ramones4me, kamakitty, bandnerd09, p.c. andrews, cocovanilla **(Wow great observation in your last review, smart girl... but my lips are sealed), **Amerise Rei, Kerrie-A, pat-nosferatu, stargirl, adriana, Milka-Weasely, Black-rose23, reader972, ticklethedragon, steffy-potter, sam, ghurl, kaye, **and **ice. **I love you all... 3 Thanks to my lovely beta, **DramaShethan**, because if I didn't have her you guys would have to put up with crappy grammar and bad sentence structure and you wouldn't like that. Without further adieu, enjoy.))

* * *

_Our deepest fear is not that we are inadequate,_

_Our deepest fear is that we are powerful beyond measure._

_It is our light, not our darkness, that frightens us most._

– _Marianne Williamson_

* * *

Chapter 11: Moonlight Masquerade, Part 2 

It was not Christoph Black, but Tom Riddle that who stared back.

"How did– what did– but you had a green costume!" Hermione stuttered.

"Green costume?" Tom asked coldly. "That was Malfoy."

Suddenly it sank in. The things she had said to him, how her words must have sounded . . .

"You wore the same costume as him!" she accused loudly. "I thought you were Christoph Black!"

"That much," said Tom wryly, "is obvious."

Hermione's stomach did a little flip as she realized she was alone with him. They stared at each other for a few moments, and finally, Tom said, "So . . . who _is _this other boy that you like?"

"Oh, him?" Hermione said airily. She paused. "I'm sure he'll figure it out someday."

"I'm sure he will," Tom agreed soundly. He seemed suddenly serious.

"Why did you want to take a walk?" Hermione asked pointedly.

"You were wrong," he intoned rather abruptly, and for a moment she thought he was still talking about Christoph. He paused, seeming to consider. " . . . you said the thing I was most afraid of was love. Well, you were wrong."

He seemed distant, haughty and cold as he said this.

"I'm afraid of myself, most of all," he said after a long while. She could hardly believe her ears. Tom Riddle, admitting a weakness? It was absurd, impossible, unheard of.

"Of . . . yourself?" she asked faintly.

"Yes. I'm afraid of . . . what I'm capable of, I suppose. I'm afraid of what I could do to people with my power."

Hermione looked up at him and was reminded of having an extremely similar conversation with a certain emerald eyed boy.

"But, Tom . . . think of all the _good _things that you could do with your power."

"Don't," he asserted in a deadly voice, "use that word around me. There is no good or evil."

Hermione was not fazed at all. "Then think of what you could do to help people, to make things better. If I had your powers–"

"You!" Tom looked angry now. "_You _don't know what it's like to have your entire life planned out for you! Your name isn't riddled into prophecies that are destined to be fulfilled. Prophecies about the end of the world, and ancient evil, the return of Slytherin. You _have _a choice in who you want to be, so don't bloody _talk _to me about what _you'd _do."

This outburst was met by a shocked sort of silence. Tom's face, for once, was full of emotion, as if he were daring her to contradict what he had said.

"You make me so angry sometimes," Hermione said in a low, firm voice. She grabbed his forearms then, and made him look her in the eyes.

"Listen to me. I don't care how many prophecy have been written about you, or how many people expect you to be like Slytherin. You _always _have a choice. That's what life is about, choices, and no one can tell you who you're supposed to be. So stop giving me this utter _rubbish _about destiny and fate and the end of the world! Wake up, and get a backbone already!"

She brought herself up short, realizing that she had been yelling. She looked up at him with huge eyes. She would not have been surprised if he had walked away, if he had yelled back, or even if he had hit her. But what he did do caught her completely off guard. He wrenched her mask off, and kissed her heatedly.

If she had found his lips icy before, it was different this time. As he drew her closer, she found that his skin was burning hot, with a passion she had never known before. At first the kiss was timid, soft, inviting, but as their tongues met, Hermione felt some kind of hunger, as if she had been starving all of her life and had finally found food.

Right then Hermione knew that she did not want to be anywhere else. Not back in the future with Harry and Ron, not anywhere but right there, with Tom's arms around her.

It is peculiar that at the _exact _moment when she realized that she would rather be no place else in the world _also_ happened to be the exact moment when she were so inevitably forced to move.

They broke apart when they heard a loud gasp from their left. Hermione whirled around to see Emma and another girl standing there, looking at Tom and Hermione with a dumbstruck expression.

"Helen? You . . . him . . .?" Emma tried to get the words out, but they did not come. Instead, Emma turned and fled with the other girl.

"No!" Hermione said, without knowing it. If the other students found out about this, everything would be ruined. People would suspect Hermione more than ever.

She turned to Tom. "I have to . . ." but he was already striding away, and she did not realize that he was shrouded in darkness until it was too late.

* * *

When Hermione reached the Gryffindor common room, it was half past one. Most of the students were still at the masquerade, which ended at two. Emma, however, was sitting in an armchair by the fire, staring moodily at the flames. 

"Where's Christoph?" Hermione asked experimentally.

"We had another row," Emma snapped waspishly. "But not before he had kissed me."

"What about?"

"About whether those flying things were pixies or fairies," Emma said, flushing after she realized how stupid this sounded.

"Honestly, Emma . . . you two are impossible. Why can't you just stop arguing and admit that you like each other already?"

Emma grimaced. "I'm not sure it's my love life we should be talking about, Helen."

"Look, Tom and I were just kissing, we don't have anything serious . . ." Hermione trailed off, noting that this was blatantly untrue.

"Oh, so you just go around snogging random boys, I suppose?"

"That's not true either," Hermione replied, red creeping up her cheekbones.

"No wonder Christoph was so interested in you," Emma said venomously.

"Since when did Christoph get into this! Not everything's about _him, _Emma! Not everything's about you, either!" Hermione yelled, fed up.

"Look, Helen," said Emma coldly. "I'm not going to spread this around or anything, you know I wouldn't do that . . . but Mary might. She was off and running before I could catch her."

"No! That's not–" but she stopped as she heard voices and footsteps outside of the common room. Doubtless it was the rest of the students coming back.

"I'm going to bed," Hermione said disgustedly.

What would happen if . . . _when . . ._ the other students found out? Would Tom deny the whole scene, or would he gloat about it?

All Hermione knew was that she had a very big headache. When she reached her dormitory, she leaned against her bed in silence, exhausted.

It happened so quickly that it might not have happened at all. One moment, Hermione was leaning against the bedpost, and the next a blur and sight and sound engulfed her. It was a flash of colour and coldness, light and darkness. Suddenly she was back in the forest clearing, and Lord Voldemort had his wand raised at her. Then, like a light flickering off, it was gone.

It was not a memory. It was like a flash into another dimension. For one moment she had felt unstable, as if she was not sure which scene she belonged in, and then had come back. _What happened?_

Hermione looked down at the time-turner around her neck, and felt terribly alone in the roaring silence of time. Was it possible that she had just glimpsed the future? Was she merely losing her mind?

She lay down and tried to sleep, but the image of Voldemort and the forest clearing was superimposed behind her eyes. She could still feel the silkiness of the mist on her skin, and she could still see the flash of green light traveling toward her, too vivid to be a memory.

Hermione tried to relax, but sleep in all of its cruelty evaded her for the rest of the night.

((A.N. Oooh scary foreshadowing, lots of foreshadowing... what do you think isgoing on here? And what will people say about Tom and Hermione? Take a guess in a review.))


	13. Of Puzzles and Riddles

((A.N. Chapter 12. I actually updated on time for once...! This is a "Calm Before the Storm" Chapter, and I am afraid it is the beginning of the end. I'm going to missupdating this story. :(There are fifteen chapters, plus an epilogue, so we aren't quite at the end. I am happy to announce that I am working on a new project, though, called **Somewhere I Have Never Traveled. **It is way longer than this one and the pairing is DM/HG. I'm sooo excited about it! I'll tell you more about that story as this one wraps up. Ahh, my reviewers. What would I do without you? Thanks to **EuphoniumGurl0, Lion Eyes, An Anti-Sheep Cheese Muffin, bubble gum girl, Loriliant Angelisa Snape, SpiritWell, Baloo**(Thanks for the fic rec!), **UNOWEN**(you're onto something there, answer is yes), **reader972, cocovanilla**(you are again verging on an important revelation!), **tickle the dragon, sexy jess, innocenteen, Amerise Rei**(you are thinking along the correct lines there), **Oliver's Quidditch Crazy, Mitsuki Ashya, The Paymaster, slytherinstargazing, sam, silver gaze, Black-rose23**(of course Mary is going to tell everyone! ;D), **Misscleo, CountessMel, BabyGooGoo2, Jay Ficlover, Lady Moofin, Ramones4me, **and **ne-me-pa-sa-ra. **Also thank you to my beta **DramaShethan **for her lovely editing. Enjoy this chapter! ;D))

_It is not in the stars to hold our destiny, but in ourselves._

– _William Shakespeare_

* * *

Chapter 12; Of Puzzles and Riddles 

A rigid coldness engulfed Tom as he strode away from Helen. He had felt so warm when kissing her, so comforted, but that feeling had disappeared like a snowflake on the first day of spring.

When the Slytherin house heard rumors of what had happened, Tom knew them well enough to know that they would be ruthless. Not to him, but to her. He also knew that they would believe whatever he told them.

_Just deny the whole thing, _Tom thought savagely. _Deny it and pretend it never happened. And never talk to Helen again. _He could not risk being seen with her for a second time.

Somewhere deep inside, though, he knew that she was the only thing that kept him going. She was the only one who him back from falling into the threatening black hole within himself.

Tom had promised himself that he would never trust anyone, much less fall in love with a girl he hardly knew. When he was around Helen he felt things that had not surfaced in years; sorrow, joy, affection, and pain. It was as if he had been blind all of his life, and then when she had crossed his path he had opened his eyes. Truthfully, Tom could not help trusting Helen. He could not help loving her either.

* * *

Dumbledore had found Minerva in her office the next morning, pouring over what looked like job offerings in the Daily Prophet. He entered quietly, and she only looked up when the door clicked shut behind him. 

They stared at each other for a few moments. Stared with knowing stares. Minerva folded her hands on the desk, and smiled just the smallest smile.

"The Minister . . . he didn't like my peacock hat."

"Well, I don't think . . ."

"He said so himself, Albus," she drawled in a bored, amused voice.

Dumbledore watched as she stood up and paced behind her desk, saying nothing.

"Now why would a man like you," she started softly, "want to keep a woman like me from getting a job elsewhere?"

Dumbledore paused, silent for a few moments. "I think we both know the answer to that, Minerva."

"I think we do too, Albus, but that doesn't mean that you're exempt from saying it aloud like a real man."

"If you must be that way . . . then so be it. I like you, Minerva, and I want you to stay."

And suddenly she was close to him and he reached out and touched her face.

"You know that it's impossible for me to stay," she said in her bossy voice.

"Stay here, Minerva McGonagall. I'm asking you to stay here."

And so she did.

Class ended, and Hermione practically jumped out of her seat and dashed out of the door. She had to get to the library as quickly as possible to research time traveling, and she only had an hour on lunch break. What had happened the night before had gotten her extremely worried.

It had been like a wake up call to her mind, and she had realized that she was substantially meddling with time. If she did not do something soon, she suspected that time would do something for her.

She dropped her book bag at a corner table and immediately began browsing the shelves. So far Hermione had only found bits and pieces of theories about time, most of them unproven and untested. One theory, however, had come up more than once in her reading. It was called the Rumineus Theory, and had been developed by Nicolas Flamel. It alluded to the notion of time freezing. Hermione returned to her table with a pile of books that looked remotely relevant to the subject.

Frowning, she saw a tiny, rolled up piece of parchment directly on the center of her table, tied neatly with a silver ribbon. She opened it.

_Meet me at the top of the Astronomy Tower tonight at eight o'clock._

It was in a careful, cursive hand, and was unsigned. Hermione's heart began pounding. She knew who had written it, but could not believe he still wanted to talk to her, much less meet her in secretly.

"Miss Nestowe?"

Hermione quickly shoved the letter into her coat pocket, and glanced up. Albus Dumbledore stood before her, his auburn hair glinting in the dusty light.

"Professor, sir," Hermione said awkwardly. "Did you . . . want something?"

"Just a word with you," Dumbledore said, a smile in his eyes. "May I sit down?"

Gulping, Hermione nodded. _Time Traveling and Its Various Theories _was careening off of one edge of the table. _How to Harness the Impossible; Time _was lying conspicuously in front of him. She quickly shoved_ Witch Weekly: Nicolas Flamel and his Rumineus Theory _under the table.

Dumbledore sat down gracefully, not even glancing at the titles of the books.

"That's a beautiful golden chain around your neck," Dumbledore said quietly. Hermione began panicking. He _knew. _Dumbledore did not make comments like that for no reason.

"Thank you, sir," Hermione said as lightly as possible.

"I daresay, you haven't taken it off since you arrived here."

"Pardon me, sir, but I don't think it's any of your business," Hermione replied, her own eyes widening after she had said it. She would never have dreamed of talking to Dumbledore that way.

He merely chuckled. "I suppose not. Why don't I just get to the point, then? You are running out of time, and I think we both know what I mean, Miss Nestowe."

His tone had suddenly become urgent and grave. She stared at him with her mouth wide open. Running out of time?

"You're not a fool, Miss Nestowe, and you're not careless. Take a step back, though, and look at what you are doing. The people around you are undeniably affected by your actions, whatever they may be. Do not forget that it is Time, the greatest of all elements, that you are so feebly attempting to hoodwink. Time waits for no man. Do not be so naive as to think that it will wait for you."

"I–" there were so many things on her mind, so many sentences she was attempting to formulate. "I'm not trying to hoodwink anything!"

"Is that so?" Dumbledore asked pointedly. He looked at her for a long time, as if trying to decipher a very confusing Riddle.

Finally, he said, "It's the full works of Nicolas Flamel you'll want, Miss Nestowe. Now if you'll excuse me. I have other business to attend to."

Wordlessly, he handed her a slip a paper.

"Good luck," he said with a wink. "Miss . . . _Nestowe._"

Dumbledore strode away and disappeared around the corner in a swirl of robes. Hermione unfolded the piece of paper.

_Permission to check out Time Theoretics_, _by Nicolas Flamel, which is a restricted book from the Professor's Library. _

– _Albus Dumbledore_

The Professors' Library only housed books that were not Ministry approved for students to see.

_What is he playing at? _Hermione thought wildly. Dumbledore had a terrible habit of speaking in riddles that were almost impossible to decipher.

"_The people around you are undeniably affected by your actions, whatever they may be."_

Had she not realized that her relationship with Tom could possibly change the entire future? What if she returned and there was no Harry Potter and no Ron Weasely? What if there was no Hermione Granger?

_I have to stop, _she realized. _I have to stop seeing him, stop talking to him, stop yelling at him . . . stop kissing him. I have to stop, before I make it even worse. _

Her heart cracked. She knew that she was being ridiculous. All that she and Tom had ever done was argue and yell and insult each other. They were not anything but enemies. She knew that was not true either. He had saved her life, and in a way, she had saved his.

This is what it had come down to. Hermione had to choose, and she knew it. Tom, or everything else. Should she choose Tom, she was condemning to the world to terror and catastrophe. At least, that is what would happen if the future remained as it had when she had gone back. Should she choose everything else, she was condemning her relationship with Tom to almost certain failure. She would sacrifice Tom for the rest of the world.

Hermione was a logical girl. In fact, she was the most logical girl that you would ever be likely to meet. And logic told her that there _was _no choice. The rest of the world was more important than Tom and Hermione. She had an obligation. _I have to forget him. It's what Harry would do. Harry would save the world. _

And yet there was something at the core of her that was more important than logic, more important than duty, and more forceful than anything she had ever known. It was the very thing she had brought out in Tom. It was her heart. And she wished, at that moment, that she could banish it away with some simple spell. But there was no magic that could take her heart away.

_Time waits for no man. Do not be so naive to think that it will wait for you._

What had Dumbledore meant by that? A growing fear had implanted itself inside of her. She jumped, realizing that she should be in her next class. _Tomorrow, I'll check that book out, _she thought with certainty. _Tomorrow. _

((A.N. **Next chapter**: Hermione goes to her secret meeting in the Astronomy Tower, but is everything as it seems? There is a major twist in this story . . . can you see it coming? Tell me what you think will happen in a review.))


	14. The Price of Immortality

((A.N. Chapter 13. I have a really good excuse for how long it took me to update, I swear. I basically had some major characterization problems and hence rewrote the ENTIRE last three fourths of the story. I'm not kidding. So, tell me how I did, okay? There might not be updates for a while but I'll try my hardest. I guess the good news is that there will be more chapters than I originally said there would be. So that's good. Thank you to **Lady Moofin** (interesting logic lol), **Euphonium Gurl0, An Anti-Sheep Cheese Muffin, Spiritwell, ramones4me, Loriliant Angelisa Snape** (haha you have no idea!), **LionEyes, Contess Mel **(very interesting comment about fufilling duty), **SaTiNk06, blue ice2, cocovanilla, divinething, livethroughtheatre, UNOWEN, reader972, Black-rose23, kamakitty, halga, innocenteen, Oliver's Quidditch Crazy, slytherinstargazing, ne-ma-pa-sa-ra, steffy-potter, Bubble gum girl, Amerise Rei **(about those theories... a little of each, actually ;D), **shadowhawk, Jay Ficlover, Soul Stealer Immortal, irize18, annabelle013, Chi, Joy4eva, Le Saut de l'Ange, chantal, Baby Goo Goo 2, JeCourse, Tickle The Dragon, haiga, Lizzy, **and **cattt. **Oh yeah, and **Sam, **happy belated birthday! ;) And thank you to **DramaShethan **very much. Enjoy!))

* * *

_Love vanquishes time. To lovers, a moment can be eternity; eternity can be the tick of a clock._

_-Mary Parrish_

* * *

Chapter 13; Price of Immortality 

Hermione climbed the stairs to the Astronomy Tower by wand-light. It was November, and the sun had long since set below the horizon.

She finally reached the top, and glanced around for Tom. She saw him nowhere.

The large bay window on the north side of the Astronomy Tower brought back memories of the first day she had arrived. _I came here to kill him, _she thought, _and I'll leave here loving him. _

Hermione pressed her hands against the glass and peered out. There was no moon at all, and starlight lit the night with a dangerous black glow. Mist, pearly and thick, covered the Forbidden Forest like a blanket of shadow. Tiny figures in cloaks moved at the corner of her eye, and she frowned. They looked like students.

Suddenly a hand covered her mouth, and another snaked around her waist.

"Guess who?" said a voice into her ear. She tried to turn around, but found his hand holding her firmly in place.

He spun Hermione around to face him. The eyes that met hers were silver, not black. She yelped in astonishment, but his hand was still over her mouth. Rhion Malfoy.

"Not who you expected?" he said with a terrible smirk. "I wasn't sure if our fake letter would work or not, but you fell right into our trap. Gryffindors are way too gullible."

_Our? _She thought wildly. What was Malfoy thinking? She knew that he hated her, but there was no reason for him to hate her this _much. _

"Stay in front of me, Nestowe," he said, slipping his hand into her pocket. Before she could stop him, he pulled out her wand. "If you try to escape, I'll stun you faster than you can say _Mudblood_."

"_Silencio,_" he murmured, pointing his own wand at Hermione's face. When he took his hand away, she found that she could not talk or scream.

"You first," he said in a low, venomous voice, and steered her in the direction that he wanted her to go. "If anyone asks, we're out for a midnight stroll."

He laughed harshly, and Hermione glanced back at him hatefully. Where was he taking her, and why? She had never said a word to him in her life. With his wand trained at the back of her neck, running away was completely out of the question.

They eventually reached the lower levels of the school, and finally emerged outside into the cold, breezy night. Hermione's curiosity grew as to where they were going. They walked past the lake, and around the Whomping Willow. Finally, they reached an ordinary clump of bushes.

"_Calligineus anima,"_ Malfoy whispered. The bushes parted to reveal a small archway. Rhion and Hermione ducked through it, and Hermione found that they were still outside, but obviously could not be seen by people outside the archway. Several black robed figures (the students she had seen), were clustered in a semicircle. They all looked up as Malfoy and Hermione entered.

_This can't be good, _Hermione thought.

Malfoy turned her to face him sharply, and raked a hand savagely through her hair. He grasped a handful and pulled it until tears came to her eyes, and then he said, "Are you afraid, Mudblood? You should be. There's no one here to save you now . . . it's a shame I didn't kill you with that Bludger, but I have a feeling that this way will be so much more fun."

He jerked her to the ground brutally by her hair, and she landed with a smash, sprawled out helplessly at his feet. Malfoy squatted down and took a hold of her chin, forcing her to look up at him.

"It's a pity that something so beautiful is so filthy," he said softly. Some of the cloaked figures around him laughed. "I wish I could have a little fun with you before the Ceremony, but if I broke you I don't think the Incantation would work. Pity."

Hermione began to be seriously frightened. These people were not joking around. She felt tears of shame come to her eyes.

"You're much prettier when you cry," Rhion informed her in a soft, venomous voice. With a smirk, he said, "I wonder what I would have to do to make you scream."

He backhanded her, and she flew forcefully back to ground. He stood up, as if making it quite clear that he was finished playing with her.

"Summon our leader," Malfoy said quickly. "Tell him we've found a Muggle-born sacrifice for the final step of his _Vitaus _spell."

Hermione's eyes flew open and she tried to sit up, but he kicked her down with a smirk. A _Vitaus _spell was an incantation used for Immortality Spells. They were so complicated that not even Hermione could fathom the amount of time and brilliance it would take to create one. They were considered the deepest form of Dark Arts, and they required the sacrifice of one life. What kind of meeting _was_ this?

"That's right," Malfoy addressed her, "a sacrifice. Who better than a girl with no family, no friends, and no background? It will be a while before anyone notices you're gone, and when they do, it will be far too late."

He smiled at her.

"Our leader is coming," one of the boys announced solemnly.

Through the archway came a silhouette of a figure, black against the starlit night. As he approached, Hermione caught sight of whom it was and gave a silent gasp. Tom Riddle.

As he strode forward in the dim light, there was something absolutely surreal about him. It was in the set of his shoulders, the way he walked, the tilt of his chin. His face, lit by the waning light, was the epitome of cold beauty. His pale cheeks, the way his eyes seemed to meld into liquid starlight, the dark tousle of hair that reminded her so much of someone else she loved. Everything about him spoke of power, control, and elegance.

Tom looked at her. It was a cursory glance, and he met her eyes for only a fraction of a second. But when he did meet them she saw something worse than anger or surprise or hatred; he looked at her like he had never seen her in his life.

"You called me, Malfoy?" he questioned nonchalantly.

Hermione scrambled to her feet, but Rhion dug his fingers painfully into her forearm before she could move. Tom did not move from his bored and inquisitive stance.

"I did," said Rhion carefully. "I've brought you the Muggle-born you need to perform the _Vitaus _ritual. You said that it could be any Mudblood, but I figured that this one had it coming. Isn't that right?" Malfoy addressed her, his silver eyes sparkling malevolently. Obviously, he knew she could not reply. She only stared back at him levelly. _Had it coming? What did I do?_

* * *

Without warning, Rhion smacked Hermione across the face. Only someone paying close attention would have seen Tom jerk involuntarily as Rhion's hand made contact with her cheek. 

It was a casual gesture on Rhion's part, as if she were a child who deserved punishment. Tom suddenly found himself unable to breath. Why was his heart pounding so hard?

It simply was not fair. He was standing in th middle of a circle of people he had worked to gain the trust of all his life. These people were the only family he had ever known, though they were far from a family, at that. Nevertheless, they represented his hopes and dreams, his power, his accomplishments.

And then there was Helen. There was a girl he had known for only a few weeks, who was of no political advantage to him at all. There was Helen, who represented light and sanity and maybe even love.

Now, they wanted to use her in a fatal ritual that involved his own immortality. _Why _her? He raged inwardly. _Anyone else in the world, I would kill without a second thought, but they had to bring her._

"Answer me, Mudblood," Malfoy said casually, removing the silence charm from her with a lazy flick of his wand. He was obviously enjoying the attention.

"Isn't that right?" he drawled loudly at her. "You deserve to die, for making up filthy, pretentious _lies. _Lies about Tom Riddle. Do you ever think he'd stoop to your level? You're filth in his eyes. You're the rancid, vile scum of the–"

"You disgust me," Hermione cut him off. "Following Riddle around like some lovesick puppy dog, doing his dirty work for him . . . you're pathetic," she spat, watching as his eyes blazed in anger.

"You deserve to die!" he said in a deadly tone. He grabbed hold of her arm suddenly and forced her to face Tom. "Doesn't she, Tom?"

Tom hated Malfoy for putting him in this position. Hermione was looking at him steadily, but he refused to return her gaze.

"I gave up the world for you," Hermione said. It was not a plead or an accusation, merely a statement. And at that moment Tom did not know how _true _it was. She _had _given up the world for him, and he would never know it.

Helen, it seemed, was the price of Immortality.

_Choose, _a voice said in his head. _Them, or her. Them, or her. Them, or . . ._

"Let go of her, Malfoy," Tom said quietly, his expression never changing. Then he reached out a hand– Malfoy looked at it as if it were a poisonous snake waiting to strike– and Hermione grasped it. A connection flew through them both, a knowing, a warmth. Malfoy let go of Hermione's arm, staring slack-mouthed at the two before him.

Tom led Hermione away, after that. Away from Rhion, away from the circle, through the archway, and onto the starlit grounds.

((A.N. I think I hear a collective, "Aww, how sweet..." Well, don't say anything just yet... ;) Now will someone tell me what they think has gotten intoTom?))


	15. Pieces of Agony

((A.N. Chapter 14, at last. I won't bore you with the myriad of excuses that are probably applicable. All of the chapters are finished, however. That's a good thing. Once again I'll remind you to look at my new story **Somewhere I Have Never Traveled** (yes, it's named after that famous poem!), which I will start posting this summer. I'm very excited about it. Thanks to all of my reviewers, who include **Arissta Kequet, sexy-jess, Lady Moofin, just merely simple me, haiga, Le Saut de l'Ange **(you're right, it is about time for a Tom PoV), **UNKNOWEN** (you're right as usual), **Daxi, Chi, Avanell, Lianis, Oliver's Quidditch Crazy **(you have a very good grasp of Tom's character :D), **EuphoniumGurl0, steffy-potter, silver gaze, Loriliant Angelisa Snape, bubble gum girl, coco-vanilla, Slytherin star gazing, Tatshing, Magic and Sparkle, Sakuya Kaleido, Spiritwell, Countess Mel **(the stuggle is still coming), **Black-rose23, foamythesquirrelmistress, Quill of the Lark, Pessimistic Eyes, fallen4voldie, p.c. andrews, Joy4eva, GwynnPotter, SaTiNk06, Floating Into Darkness, BabyGooGoo2, romantic fairy, Mikki, Black-ranger, readerofHP, Amygdala, lucky, Jesica Black, CareBearErin, Emma Lee, referxmadness, chamorrobaby, calicogirl, IceHeart161, re-ma-pa-sa-ra, dark88poet, **and **Linn-LovesPiperLeo. **You guys are unbelievable! Thanks to my beta, **DramaShethan, **as well. Kind of a short chapter... I'm sorry... but the next two are very long. I swear 't! Enjoy...))

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* * *

_

_In your eyes, I see a darkness that torments you_

_And in your head where it dwells_

_I'd give you my hand if you'd reach out and grab it_

_Let's walk away from this hell._

– '_Into the Dark' by Juliana Theory_

* * *

Chapter 14; Pieces of Agony 

Tom led Hermione away, then, away from the circle and through the archway and onto the starlit grounds.

"Tom," she whispered, turning to face him. Her face was unusually vulnerable, her eyes wide and imploring."Why did–"

"You have to understand," he started suddenly, "that I don't feel fear like average people. I've never felt fear, not for myself, not for anyone else. It's not a . . . feeling . . . that I know."

His eyes were riveted on hers like a thousand chips of onyx. "But . . . when I saw you standing there and knew that you would have to die, I was scared to _death_."

He broke away from her, his mind whirling too fast for his own comfort. _Why did you do it? _A nasty voice in his head whispered. _Why did you save her? She is worthless Mudblood girl, and your immortality is more important than her. So why couldn't you kill her?_

The scariest thing was that he did not _know. _There was not one logical reason why he had spared her life. In fact, he had an inkling suspicion that he would be better off without her. She muddled his brain and befogged his perfect and ruthless train of logic like no one else had ever done. Suddenly he was angry. He was angry at himself for making the decision he had made, and he was angry at Helen for being the cause of it.

He paced back in forth in front of her.

For a moment he had convinced himself that he would have to kill her. He had faltered when he had realized that no matter how hard he tried, he could not imagine a world without her in it. _Why not_? he asked himself angrily. _She is not special, she is nothing, she is a Mudblood, she is stubborn, she is unworthy of my acquaintance, she is gorgeous standing there in the starlight . . ._

He made an exasperated sound, frustrated at her and himself. Tom clutched his head, trying to straighten out his thoughts. He had never lost control like this.

Helen watched him with some dismay, and Tom noted that she looked just as lost as he did.

"What _is it _with you?" he said at last, turning to face her sharply. She drew back. He was angrier than she had ever seen him.

"What do you mean?"

"I don't know!" Tom yelled in her face. "That's the problem . . . I don't know _anything _when I'm around you! Everything I've been taught, every thread of logic, everything that I thought I _knew _vaporizes like morning mist when I'm near you and all that's left is your _face_!All I can see is your _face! _And I hate you for it!"

He drew in a ragged breath. He had expected her to cower away when he screamed at her, but she had stayed perfectly still. That was another thing about Helen. She stood up to him long past the point when anyone else would have backed down in fear.

"Why aren't you afraid of me?" he asked her in a deceptively soft voice. Their faces were only inches apart. "I just screamed in your face and you didn't move. Everyone else in the world is terrified of me and yet you are not. Don't think I won't hurt you, Helen, because I _will_."

Hermione stared into Tom's eyes. His face was so close that she could see the individual eyelashes fluttering, dark and sleek, above the blackness of his eyes. He had just threatened her. He had just told her he hated her.

She was not fooled for a moment, though. Hermione knew what this was. It was a last ditch defense mechanism on his part. He was trying desperately to push her away in order to hold on to his sanity. He did not know what was happening, but he knew only that she was the cause of it. Tom Riddle was falling in love with her and he did not like it at all.

"How could I be afraid of you," she asked quietly, "if you are afraid of _yourself?_"

He met her gaze, and his face was wide open. His eyes were glittering like black wounds.

"And if you are willing to hurt me, then why didn't you kill me back with all your Jr. Death Eaters watching? It would have made much more sense."

"What did you just call them?" Tom asked insidiously

Hermione drew in a breath. How could she have been so stupid? How could she have let something as important as that slip out of her mouth? Tom made her say things without thinking about them, and that was never a good thing.

"I don't know," she said coldly, deciding to act as if it was nothing. "But the Tom Riddle I know would not have saved me from death. For once the ruthless Tom Riddle looked like he was about to cry."

"I don't _cry_," Tom spat bitterly, "I have never cried in my life and I wouldn't cry over someone like you. The nurses at the orphanage said that even when I was a baby I didn't cry. I told you, Helen. I couldn't bring myself to kill you because all of my life I have seen people as chess pieces and when I look at you . . . I see your face."

She could tell that it killed him to admit that to her. It killed him to admit that she made him feel more vulnerable than he had ever been in his life.

Hermione suddenly felt suffocated. She could not bare any more of the uncertainty she felt when she looked at him. He was everything she _did not _want in a boy. He was ruthless and over controlling and hardheaded and mean. If this was true, then why could she not make herself move? Why did she see his face every time she closed her eyes at night?

Hermione whirled around, a tear coming down her face and then another. A cold iron hand clamped down on her wrist. She turned back to face him, and he caught both of her wrists in one hand, drawing her body closer to his.

"We're not done talking," he said in an icy, brutal voice.

"Oh yes we are!" she replied angrily. She tried to jerk out of his grasp, but he did not let go.

"We're not done talking until I _say _we're done talking," Tom said firmly, staring her down. He twisted her wrist and she gasped in pain. "Where did you ever get the idea that you could walk away from me?"

He seemed so like Voldemort in that moment that it scared her.

"You are _unbelievable, _do you know that? You have controlled everyone around you for so long that you forgot how it feels when people don't do what you want! Well, you may control all of those weaklings that follow you around and you may play games with Dumbledore and the rest, but that does _not _mean you can control me! That does _not _mean you can play games with me!" she cried, and enunciated the last part very clearly. "Now . . . _let go of me._"

Shocked, he let go of her wrists.

She watched the realization dawn in his eyes. He could not dominate her.He had, at last, met his match.

She watched him realize that maybe he did not even _want _to dominate her.

Before he could say another word, Hermione walked away

She did not see him put his head in his hands as his face shattered into a thousand pieces of agony.

((A.N. I'll give you a pretty philisophical review question this time,but itis extremely important to the story. **Is it the choices that Tom makesthat will ultimately decide his fate, or is he destined to be Lord Voldemort?** I know you all have an opinion, now! Tell me what you think in a review.Next chapter... Tom and Hermione meet again, but will Tom's Slytherin friends get in the way?))


	16. See You Cry

((Chapter 15. Hey I'm actually on time! Here comes the bad news... I'm going to be gone on a road trip to Vegas/Grand Canyon etc. for the next two weeks so I won't be posting. I tried not to leave you all at too big of a cliffhanger, but I still feel awful...! You guys are just too great about reviewing... nothing in the world makes me happier than coming home and seeing an inbox full of reviews. About the **Choices/Destiny **question, an overwhelming majority of you guessed **Choices **over **Destiny. **Of course I'm not going to tell you if you're right, but you'll find out sooner than you think. ;D I will say that some of you guys are _way too smart. _Some of you, I refuse to say who, have completely hit the mark.Thank you to **LilytheSpitFire, divinething, CountessMel, dracodolenz, SpiritWell, bitterspice, sweet-little-girl, Zippy Rox **(one of the few who said destiny over choices), **EuphoniumGurl0, cocovanilla, The Cardboard Moon **(very interesting idea), **kamakitty, HermyPenguin **(there is going to be even more "back and forth"), **hewhoistomriddle, readerofHP, Sukuya Kaleido, IceHeart161 **(haha! By far my favorite review! There are some paralells between Anakin and Tom, aren't there:D), **doragon41, stargazer starluver, Mikki, ne-ma-pa-so-ra, Le Saut de l'Ange, Magic and Sparkle **(ah, what an interesting theory...), **Loriliant Angelisa Snape, cm-88, Oliver's Quidditch Crazy **(thank you), **Black-rose23, jaded emerald, haiga **(the song lyrics described my story perfectly :D), **UNOWEN, CareBareErin, Adoryble, Lady Moofin, MissCleo, BabyGooGoo2, just reading, firesorceress1, Chloe Riddle **(insightful), **Rouge07, Samanthaaa, Kylala-San, lovelyrewierperson, Rotten Delilah, Emily, Lady Evanescence, Jess, Lillane, Stephanie Zastrow, Amerise Rei **(very good question/s), **Jay Ficlover, **and **blaiselover. **Last but not least my lovely beta, **DramaShethan. **A final note: Tom is not out of character. :D))

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* * *

_

_Don't waste your touch, you won't feel anything _

_Or were you sent to save me?_

_I've thought too much, you won't find anything_

_Worthy of redeeming._

_Break down, and cease all feeling_

_Burn now, what was once breathing,_

_Reach out, _

_And you may **take my heart away.** _

– "_The Leaving Song Pt. II" by AFI_

* * *

Chapter 15; See You Cry 

"Tom Riddle understands everything," students had whispered ever since First Year. "Ask Tom Riddle. He'll know what to do."

It had always been true. Tom knew almost everything. He was a sponge for knowledge, and it was often said that he would be able to teach a class better than the professors themselves.

He knew how to perform all three types of Unforgivable Curses with elegant perfection.

He had memorized all twelve uses of dragon's blood.

He had charmed everyone he had met into thinking that he was wonderful. He had entranced numerous girls into bed.

If was safe to say that Tom Riddle was one of the most knowledgeable people in the world.

There was one black mark on his flawless record, though. He was completely bewildered when it came to one subject in particular. No one knew about this gap in knowledge, however, so it was okay.

Tom Riddle did not know the first thing about love.

He had tried many times to intellectualize the concept named love, but again and again he had found it impossible. He had never _been_ loved, and he had certainly never loved anyone in his life. Love was a completely foreign concept to him.

What was this thing called love, that had been the subject of countless songs and books and poems?

What was this thing called love, that seemed to sway battles, to change minds, to alter history?

What was this thing called love, that caused people to be completely contradictory and thickheaded and that so often was the demise of great rulers and powerful men?

How could a thing so trivial as _love, _so insignificant as a look or a touch or an embrace, rule thousands?

Tom had considered himself lucky, to be honest. While everyone around him was ruled by this ridiculous entity, he alone could think and act untainted by its cruel and treacherous enchantment. Tom had realized that love was a weakness, and he had promised himself never to be drawn into love by its false promises, its comforting facade, its malicious allure.

And then he had met Helen.

_Is this love? _He thought savagely. _Is it this feeling of complete and utter helplessness? I can't control Helen and I can't control myself and I can't control anything at all anymore. And the worst thing of all is that I no longer want to. _

He no longer wanted to be in control of everything.

_I should hate her for this, _he thought with conviction, _I've already botched up my entire life because of this girl and yet I can't stop thinking about her, I can't stop dreaming of her, I can't stop craving the sound of her voice. I'm pathetic._

And the most awful part was that he could belittle himself for his feelings, but he could not _stop_ himself from feeling in the first place.

He drifted off into sleep filled with dreams of deep, brown eyes.

* * *

He was roused by a distinct rapping on his door. 

"Riddle! Riddle, wake up!" came an all too familiar voice.

Shaking off the sleepiness, Tom arose carefully and answered the door.

"What do you want, Malfoy?" he asked sardonically, raising an annoyed eyebrow.

"Tom, you won't believe it! The whole school is in an uproar. Apparently word spread fast about you and Nestowe. Something like this has never happened at Hogwarts. A Slytherin and a Gryffindor? A Mudblood and a Pureblood? Everyone is in shock, but mostly because it's _you, _the Muggle hater and the Slytherin extra ordinaire!"

Malfoy looked astounded and slightly disheveled standing just outside of his Head Boy dormitory.

Tom really did not need this information thirty seconds after he woke up. "Rhion, this isn't exactly a –"

"I knew it," Rhion said triumphantly, "what you did last night was all a big mistake, right? You don't care about that Mudblood whore. Everyone makes mistakes, Tom, and Slytherin is ready to forgive you if you just deny the whole thing . . . !"

"Stop blubbering, you utter moron, and let me get a word in. What I did last night was a huge mistake, but I know that the House of Slytherin will follow me whether I care for the girl or not. Who are you, to question my authority? I can do whatever I damn like and you all will follow me. You will follow me to the gates of Hell if I ask it of you and you will do it without question. Is that not true?"

Rhion looked like a small child who had been reprimanded by his mother.

Tom had such a strong hold over his followers that he could do no wrong in their eyes. They were lost without him, helpless without his guidance.

"Of course that's true, Tom. I don't know what I was thinking . . . but it's genuine, isn't it? You really do care about that girl."

"No," Tom said icily, and slammed the door in Rhion's face.

* * *

Hermione entered the Potions classroom with some trepidation. She did not want to look at Tom or talk to him. She feared that she would lose control if she so much as glanced in his direction. 

Upon her entrance, the students quieted down, but she heard whispers and saw eyes widen. Yes, they had all found out about the previous night. Tom had denied that he cared about her at all. Apparently he had charmed all of the Slytherins back into good graces, and now it was only a matter of upholding his reputation with the rest of the school.

She took her usual seat next to him, refusing to acknowledge his presence. Eyes were scrutinizing their actions closely, and she determinedly took out her Potions ingredients as if nothing was different.

For two excruciating hours, the class wore on, and not once did she look at him or talk to him. She did not notice the uncertainty flash through his eyes like miniature bolts of lightning. At last, the class was over, and she slung her bag over her shoulder, hastening out the door.

It happened as she was walking down a deserted hallway. The strap on her bag broke. The books, ink, and quills spilled over the floor.

Frustrated to the point of tears, she bent down to gather everything together. She was surprised when she saw a hand pick up one of her books. As she straightened up she saw that it was Tom. He handed the textbook to her wordlessly, staring at her the entire time.

"What do you want?" she asked in a raw voice. "How could you possibly make my life any more miserable?"

Tom laughed in a harsh and guttural manner.

"I've made _your _life miserable? You're the one that should be apologizing, Helen. You've ruined all that I've worked for and my reputation. Everything bad that has happened to me this year is _your fault._"

His voice had risen steadily, and he was trembling with anger and some other emotion that she could not be sure of. Hermione could not bring herself to meet his gaze. Tom Riddle was the most self centered jerk she had ever met.

"Look at me when I'm talking to you," he said cruelly, and took her chin in his hand, wrenching is savagely and forcing her to face him. His actions reminded her strongly of Rhion the night before. She felt tears well up in her eyes.

* * *

Tom realized that he had made her cry. She was not just sniffling, she was trying to hold back huge, gut wrenching sobs, and is was not working. He had never seen her cry so hard. 

_Isn't that what you wanted? Didn't you want to pay her back for all she has done to you? _asked a voice in his head.

He felt a sick feeling well up in the pit of his stomach. He did not know why he had wanted to make her cry, but he had only wanted to make her feel as awful and uncertain as he did.

Now she was sobbing helplessly, and it was tearing him apart. Now her face had shattered, and it was killing him to see her in so much pain. It was even worse to know that he was the cause of it.

"Look, Helen, I . . . why are you crying?"

"I'm crying because you are a self centered jerk! No wonder no one has ever loved you! All you do is inflict pain on people around you. You told everyone that you didn't care about me and that you would have nothing to do with me! You screamed at me, told me you hated me, and let your awful friends bully me around without lifting a finger! And then to top it all off, you expect _me _to apologize to you? You're disgusting!"

Tom let go of her in shock. Helen was right.

Her face was scrunched up in pain, and he realized that he did not want to see her cry anymore. He would do anything to make her stop.

"I'm sorry, okay?"

It killed him to admit that. He had never said those words to anyone in his life.

* * *

Hermione looked up at him in disbelief. In his eyes she saw true remorse. He really was sorry that he had made her cry. 

She had completely broken down because she had simply had too many burdens on her shoulders. Hermione did not know how she would get back to the future and she did not know how she would face the Gryffindor house later and she did not know why she was crying in front of Tom.

Hermione had been strong for the majority of the last few months. She was tired of standing up to him and being strong.

Tom brought his thumb slowly up to her face and wiped away the teardrop. It was the most tender gesture she had ever seen him make.

"Please stop crying," he begged softly. "It's killing me."

* * *

Two minutes ago he had wanted to tear her apart for how awful she had made him feel, and now he watched with relief as the shaking of her body subsided. He had convinced himself logically that he hated her, but logic had deserted him at the sight of Helen's face. 

What _was _it about her that made him act so impulsively?

He stepped away from her suddenly, and Helen knew what it was that Tom was about to do. They were getting too close emotionally, again, and he was terrified. He was going to yell at her or walk away. She watched him with this knowing and heartbroken expression on her face because she knew that he was going to do it too. He had done it every time she had tried to get closer to him.

And then, he decided not to. Just like that, he changed his mind. Helen had never given him a reason not to trust her, after all. It seemed too cruel to Tom to leave her in a deserted hallway, crying because of all the things he had done to her.

He took a deep breath.

"I'm sorry that I denied our relationship, but I did that because I was in denial about it myself. I'm sorry that I let Rhion knock you around without doing anything, but I suppose we could call that even, since I caught you when he hit the Bludger at you. I'm sorry I screamed at you, I'm sorry I tried to control you, I'm sorry I said that I hated you . . . I'm _sorry. _And I'm begging you . . . I have never begged anyone for anything, Helen . . . I'm begging you to forgive me. Because something's happening to me, and it is scaring me to death. It's like I'm hanging off of the edge of a canyon, like I'm about to fall into this endless abyss, and the only thing that keeps me hanging on is the sound of your voice."

Tom's eyes seemed shadowed and hollow and he said this.

"Because the only thing that keeps me sane is looking into your eyes."

He was enigmatic, somehow more intense, but he still retained all of his sharp and breathtaking beauty.

"Because when darkness closes in around my mind, I think of how your lips feel and it goes away. Because every day I become more consumed by iniquity, darkness, and lies . . . but when I think of you, some minuscule part of me sees truth. But most of all because I just now realized that I can't standto see you cry," he finished, voice full of confusion. "I've made so many people cry that I can't even count them all. But like always, you're different . . . watching you cry is just awful."

Hermione was floored. She had not realized what an impact she had been having on him. He was beginning to fight the evil that threatened to consume him so completely. Because of her, he was fighting the man he had been born to be.

He was fighting his destiny for her. A sudden emotion that she did not know swept through her body like wildfire.

She did not want to lie to him anymore. There would be only truth between them.

"Tom?" she whispered softly, looking up at him. Her eyes had stopped tearing, though her face was still wet.

"Yes?"

"Please don't call me Helen . . . call me Hermione."

If he was curious as to her motives for changing her name, he did not show it. "Alright, then. Hermione."

The word sounded beautiful on his lips. It was almost poetic in its originality and elegance.

Until the moment he had said _sorry_, Hermione had believed that Tom Riddle would never change. She had seen it in his eyes, though. She had watched that crucial debate take place in his head. He had the choice of either walking away from her and distancing himself completely, or giving in and apologizing at last. Hermione waited for the former option to triumph over apologizing, as it always did. Hermione had watched the change take place on his face.

Some new emotion that had never been in his eyes had surfaced, and it did not take Hermione long to realize what this emotion was.

_Trust, _she realized suddenly. _I saw trust glinting like a forlorn jewel in the depths of his apathetic eyes. _

((A.N. So we see a more sensitive, vulnerable side of Tom. We also see some growing darkness... what do you think about the notion of lies? How much is he not telling Hermione? How will Tom react when he finds out Hermione has been lying all along? Next chapter: Dumbledore comes to an important realization, Rhion Malfoy reappears, and things get more intense between Tom and Hermione.))


	17. Worst Nightmare

((A.N. Chapter 16. I'm back from my vacation, which was great, aside from lost luggage, bad directions (never trust Mapquest), and highly dubious seafood. In any case, I'm back and ready to finish posting this story. I'm thinking about giving you guys a preview of my new story, **Somewhere I Have Never Traveled, **which I can't wait to start posting. This story almost has 500 reviews! You guys are great. Thank you to** EuphoniumGurl0, CareBearErin, steffy potter, Blood Tears Dying Angel, haiga, Loriliant Angelisa Snape **(not quite yet, girly),**Lady Moofin, Oliver's Quidditch Crazy, bubble gum girl, Jay Ficlover **(wow... well, I particularly liked the radioactive mineral/ meteorite one, though unfortunately that isn't how the story turns out), **Jess, blaiselover, JamieGirl, Arissta Kquet, Le Saut de l'Ange, flaming-amber, flirtytype214, Sakuya Kaleido, UNOWEN **(betrayal... what a concept), **CountessMel, enchantedlight, SaTiNk06, avanell, cocovanilla, Black-rose23, IceHeart161**(haha!), **Sarcastic Capricorn **(x16!), **tickle the dragon, Amerise Rei **(yes you can sy 'aww' now :D), **Tears-That-Fall, stargazer starluver, Kathryn, BabyGooGoo2, mikki, Eccentrically Yours, vertebrata, Emily, Nathonea, Brittany, Karla Marie, slytherinstargazing, BelleLamour, GoBbleDyGoOk, Miss Mina Murray, Meg, Spicysuga, **and **Mitsuki Ashya. **And I never forget my beta, **DramaShethan. **Enjoy the chapter.))

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Love is a force more formidable than any other. It is invisible– it cannot be seen or measured, yet it is powerful enough to transform you in a moment . . . _

– _Barbara De Angelis_

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Chapter 16; Worst Nightmare 

Like a golden pearl sinking slowly under the murky water of the sea, Dumbledore watched the sun drop below the horizon. A whirling amber instrument on his desk caught the glint of the waning light and reflected it onto his spare pair of spectacles, rimmed in shadowy silver. For some reason Dumbledore sensed an extra weight in the present sundown; he felt as if it was the last sunset that would ever matter.

Dumbledore feared that he had made a great mistake in so carelessly throwing Helen and Tom together. It was, perhaps, the biggest mistake he would ever make. And yet, there was a chance, however slight, of redemption for Tom Riddle. He realized that Helen was the only one who could save Tom from the evil that threatened to consume him so completely.

Tom Riddle was one of the most dangerous characters Dumbledore had ever known, and the main reason for this was that Tom had immeasurable charisma. There were people with so little charisma that they could make the most profound statement in the world and not one person would hear it. There were those with so _much _charisma that they could talk nonsense and cause all people in the vicinity to hang on their every word.

Tom was one of these.

If charisma was coupled with intelligence, however, it was one of the most poisonous combinations known to man. Not only did Tom draw people in with his words, but he had evidence to back up his philosophies and his claims. He _knew _that he could entrance and enthrall everyone around him, and he would use it to his best advantage.

If beauty was added into the mixture, which Tom undeniably possessed, the character of a man became twice as enticing. People of beauty were idolized in society, and with his dark and aesthetic attractiveness, Tom would ascend even more easily into Godhood.

And lastly, there was ambition.

When charisma, intelligence, beauty, and ambition were fused together into one soul, there was no stopping its inevitable ascent to power. To put it simply, Tom Riddle exhibited Napoleon's ambition, Einstein's intelligence, Helen of Troy's beauty, and the Devil's own charisma. If these four attributes were combined, and a dash of unquestionable darkness was added, a character with the potential of Tom Riddle would come to life.

In other words, there was no stopping the boy.

* * *

The lake sparkled with sapphire and ebony ripples in the pallid glow of the autumn moon. 

Hermione walked slowly along the shore of the lake, gazing into the water as if she could find solace in the icy depths. Thinking was like trying to swim through molasses, and coherent thought leaked away as she peered into the still water.

"Couldn't sleep?" came a familiar voice from behind her.

The reflection in the black lake became silver, and she turned around to see Rhion Malfoy standing in front of her. Immediately, she tensed up, hand traveling to her wand.

"I'll hex you if you come any closer," Hermione told him in a passionless voice. She was about three seconds away from levitating him into the lake. Malfoys never changed.

"Go ahead," Rhion said slowly, with a slightly disconcerting smile. He looked past her, into the lake, and she had an urge to look behind her shoulder.

"I've got to hand it to you, Nestowe," Rhion continued in the same eerie voice, "you certainly are determined. You never quit, do you?"

"What are you talking about?" she asked guardedly. He stared pointedly at the lake, but she did not turn around.

"Can't you see that I've been trying to get rid of you from day one? I knew from the start that you were trouble when it came to Tom. I saw it in the way he looks at you . . . the way he _still _looks at you. It's obvious that _you_ are the only thing that matters to him now. Can't you see? You've _ruined_ everything. Our emotionless ice prince is destroyed forever and it is all your fault! He was our leader and now he only loves you! You've devastated Slytherin by taking away our greatest leader, and I _hate_ you for it, Helen Nestowe! We _all _hate you!"

He was pacing back and forth in aggravation, and raving uncontrollably about how she had ruined Slytherin. For the first time, Hermione considered the possibility that Malfoy was mentally unstable. He looked purple with rage and envy, and his eyes were feverishly bright in the moonlight.

"Just stay away from me, Malfoy," Hermione said softly, as she realized that stepping back would mean stepping into the lake. "I had nothing to do with Tom's decision last night, and if you don't calm down I swear I'm going to Petrify you."

"Do it," he hissed with a bitter and hysterical laugh, "I dare you. I am going to kill you, Helen. I am going to strangle you until you–"

"Stop it," she said sharply, raising her wand to point at him. He looked as concerned as if she had threatened him with a lollipop.

He took a step closer, but Hermione could back up no further.

"You Mudblood whore," he whispered murderously, "I'm going to make you sorry for everything you've done to Slytherin . . ."

He looked as if he were about to lunge at her, and she teetered precariously at the edge of the lake.

"Is there a problem?" came a silky voice from behind Rhion.

Rhion whirled around to see Tom Riddle standing nonchalantly behind him, arms crossed and an eyebrow raised.

"T . . .Tom . . ." Rhion stuttered fearfully, backing up as if he had seen a rabid wolf staring at him hungrily. "N-no . . . there is no problem. Helen and I were just having a little chat . . . well, more like a conversation, in the sense that–"

"Shut up," Tom barked ruthlessly. He raised his wand and a spell lanced off of the tip that narrowly missed Rhion's head. "You're lucky I was taking a midnight stroll, Malfoy."

Another spell grazed Rhion's ear. If Tom had wanted the spells to hit Malfoy full on, they would have done so. Rhion was shaking with fear. "You're lucky I was taking a walk, because if you would have so much as _touched_ her I would have torn you apart. Now it would be very wise of you to get out of here as fast as your miserably pampered feet can take you . . . have I made myself clear?"

Rhion responded by scampering away with a wail. Tom Riddle seemed to have an alarming effect even on full grown men.

Tom had assured Rhion that he did not care for Hermione earlier that day, but when he had seen Hermione in danger something had snapped inside of him. He _did_ care about her, and he was ready to admit that to himself.

Tom turned to her as if nothing out of the ordinary had happened. Hermione supposed that he was just_ that used _to people following his orders without question.

"Why didn't you hex him?" Tom asked curiously.

He stepped toward her, and she wondered how his emotions could change so quickly. It was frightening. A moment ago, he had been murderous toward Rhion. Now, all that was left in his gaze was concern and softness.

"I think I felt a little bit sorry for him," Hermione admitted in a low voice. " I think he's one sandwich short of a picnic. He really doesn't know what to do without you, does he?"

"I guess not," Tom replied with a shrug. "But then again, not one imbecile in this school can survive without being given orders. The human race is pathetic. I_ hate _it, Hermione," he said dangerously, his eyes flaring. Sometimes Tom's intensity scared her.

"Hate what?"

"This_ world_. Everything in it. The cruel injustice of all that has come to pass. The way that _morons _like Dumbledore and Malfoy feel the need to separate good and evil so definitively. Why can't they understand that all I want is _justice?_" he said, voice raising and eyes flaring. She felt the urge to shrink back from him. She had never seen him so cynical and angry. She had never seen him so much like Lord Voldemort. "I want a world where people will have consequences for their hideous discrimination. They will pay someday, Hermione. From the very moment I was born, I was cursed. I was _less _than them all. And then Dumbledore, with his closeminded and outdated notions of good and evil, judged me for trying to be the most that I could be! I was never even given a _chance _for redemption."

He was shaking, and his expression was dark and bruised. His sensual and alluring face seemed contorted into something unrecognizable. With a wrench in her gut, Hermione realized that it _was_ recognizable. It was the face of Lord Voldemort.

Her heart began to break.

"Tom, please listen to me," she whispered, taking his hand in her own. "Please understand that _I _am giving you a chance for redemption. And I would_ never_ follow your orders. We are equals . . . don't you understand that?"

His face softened. Tom seemed look at the rest of the world with a murderous glare, and she knew that he could be ruthlessly brutal to everyone around him. When he looked at her, though, his entire face changed. It was terrifying, to know that if he had the chance, he would burn the world and everything in it to ashes.

Everything except her.

"You're right . . . and that is what I like about you," he said reluctantly.

They commenced in walking slowly along the lake front. They were silent for a great while, but Hermione felt as if she did not have to talk to enjoy being around him. There was a quality in his nature that she could never get enough of. The way he walked and spoke seemed direct and intense, a characteristic that so many others lacked.

"Tom," she started apprehensively, " I have a serious question. It may seem silly, but . . . what am I to you?"

"You're my worst nightmare," Tom replied, without skipping a beat. His tone was direct and genuine. "You're the one person I've always been afraid of meeting. The one who can see right through all the masks I put on, who can knock down all the barriers I built up, who can stand up to me while everyone else cowers in fear. You're my worst nightmare," he repeated softly.

He met her gaze, and his eyes were full of apprehension and confusion. He still did not fully understand what he was going through.

"Well," said Hermione with a small smile, "I'm sorry that I prove so offensive to you, Mr. Riddle. I suppose it would be best for me to leave now . . ."

And with a knowing smile, she turned to walk away.

"No," he said sharply, "it's true that you're my worst nightmare, but you're the kind of nightmare, you see . . . the kind of nightmare that wakes a person up. I've been sleeping all my life, I suppose . . . and now I've woken up."

She could tell that Tom Riddle was good at making speeches in everyday life, but now he was stumbling over words, and he seemed more confused than ever.

"And what I am saying in this moment goes against everything I have ever known," Tom said, his tone nearly unrecognizable, "but I really want to kiss you right now."

His face was pale and statuesque in the moonlight, and his dark hair proved a beautiful contrast.

"Then kiss me," she whispered.

* * *

He kissed her in the soft light of the moon, as the lake glimmered with all its alluring darkness, and everything around them seemed to fade slowly from existence. 

She was not the best friend of Harry Potter, and he was not the future Lord of the Dark. They were two souls caught up in the tragic comedy of life, and her lips on his were all that mattered. She pulled away from him softly, and he ran his hand down her cheek and along her neck.

And it was in that moment which Tom realized.

_What love is, _he thought slowly, _what love really is . . . is Hermione. Love is this, right now. _

Maybe love had made him give up everything he had known. Maybe love had saved him.

It was nonsensical. It was all powerful. It was fleeting. It was beautiful. It was artistic. It was perfect. It was tragic. It was heartbreaking, and none of those words came even close to identifying it. Most of all, it was indescribable and undefinable. This was why he had never understood love.

At last, he felt as if he were going to be okay.

"My worst nightmare," he whispered softly, but couldn't shake the feeling that Hermione was a dream come true.

* * *

The kiss had been more than a kiss to Hermione. It had been light where there could only bedarkness. 

He looked at her and she realized with a sudden start that Tom _loved _her. He still seemed cynical and haughty and troubled, but those were the characteristics that years of torment had bestowed upon him. Tom would always have a great measure of darkness in his personality, but in his own chaotic and intense way, he loved her.

Tom Riddle had changed, and the pattern of time had changed along with him. In the future Hermione created, there would not _be _a Lord Voldemort, and there would not _be _Death Eaters, all because of this great big accident she had of falling in love with him.

"I don't know what to do about you, Tom Riddle," she said, her voice trembling with emotion as she clutched on to him. "You've ruined all of my plans. You're my worst enemy and there is nothing I want more than to stand here with you and never move again."

Hermione supposed it was fate that had brought them together, but quickly discarded that idea. It was _choices, _she reasoned at last, that had changed the future and the past. It had not been love at first sight, but instead it had taken them months to understand their complex feelings. It was not that they were _made _for each other, it was that one could not _exist _without the other. Choices, was all that it came down to.

"I'm afraid that if we move," Tom confided in her, "that this whole night will be only a bittersweet dream and that it will dissolve like . . . have you ever been outside on a spring morning in March, when it's just cool enough for there to be a delicate covering of mist over the woods? I'm afraid that this moment will dissolve like that mist when the sun rises. So let's not move, Hermione. For one moment, let us pretend that this is real."

His eyes suddenly became glassy, and she watched a tear trail down his porcelain skin. "I'm scared to death that this isn't real," he repeated inaudibly, and held onto her as if she were the only thing in the world that contained true substance.

She remembered when he told her about how even as a baby, he had never cried. She also remembered when he had asked her why she cried on that warm fall night that could have been a million years ago.

"You can cry," Hermione said softly, "because I'll always be there to wipe your tears away."

And as he had done for her, she brought her hand up to his face and banished the tear as if it were only a drop of water.

Passion. Foreboding.

"Tom," she whispered urgently and suddenly. Her eyes appeared round, luminous, and concerned in the unforgiving gleam of the moon, "if you could go back in time and change something really awful, would you do it?"

Tom looked contemplative, then, his face tilted towards the heavens.

"I'm a firm believer that you can't change time, Hermione. Everything about time is so complicated, so intricately woven, that it is, in the end, impossible to manipulate."

_Look how much I've changed you, _she wanted to say.

"But it's been done before," Hermione persisted. "People have gone back and altered a small piece of time that they wanted to change, and when they went back to the future, things were different."

"Time is just a great pattern, though. It continues on and on and never stops. People who go back in time are meant to go back. It's all part of the pattern," Tom said lightly, oblivious to how much of an impact his words were having on her.

_Was I meant to go back? _Hermione wondered. _How different will things be when I go forward?_ She realized that Tom would be like a better Dumbledore, in her time, in the altered reality she had created.

That was when she felt an inkling at the back of her brain, the tiniest beginning of an idea that she did not fully understand.

But that essential, precious train of thought slipped away as Tom leaned in to kiss her. If she had continued thinking for one more minute, perhaps even one more second, she would have foreseen the flaw in her plan. But right then all that mattered were Tom's lips on hers, his hands around her waist, the way she was intensely aware of his every movement.

At that moment, all that mattered was that he loved her and she loved him.

Was it not true that love conquered all?

((A.N. So what is going on here? Did Tom really just tell his right-hand man to sod off? And what was Hermione's idea? Coming up next chapter . . . well, you'll see. ;D))


	18. Black Rose

((A.N. Chapter 17. Wow, it's awful to think that this story is almost over. A reviewer asked me if Igot attached to my characters. Hah. I am _very_ attached to all of my characters (God, especially Tom!)and I hate to see them go. :((The good news is that thereis a preview ofmy new story on my profile, so check there for a summary and information. Thanks for reviews goes to **slytherinstargazing, EuphoniumGurl0, Loriliant Angelisa Snape **(hah. I have no idea what you're rambling about), **Oliver's Quidditch Crazy, ObsidianEyes666, daxi, Jolena, cocovanilla, SarcasticCapricorn, CareBearErin, An Anti-Sheep Cheese Muffin, haiga, Oblivionknight7, SpiritWell **(you actually expect me to answer that:D), **Kathryn, Jennayster, stargazer starluver **(you unknowingly said some very important things), **Spicysuga, enchanted light, Sakuya Kaleido, Jaqueline **(right now Miss-Know-It-All is being a little thickheaded, actually), **via Ldiva, softballprincess541, Black-rose23, BelleLamour, Jess, msqt9029, steffy-potter, BabyGooGoo2, silver gaze, Jay Ficlover **(may your sugar levels decrease quickly), **ramones4me, GoBbLeDyGoOk, blaiselover, You-know-who **(I do know who), **Annie, KyootNShort, sweet-little-girl **(good question), **donoma, UNOWEN, CountessMel, **and **Mihita. **And thank you to **DramaShethan, **my beta, who has been with me through think and thin, rain and shine and inexcusably bad grammar. This chapter is a little tricky and might be confusing. But those of you who have read carefully up to this point might have seen it coming. ;D I won't give anymore away Enjoy!))

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_The whole course of human history may depend on a change of heart in one solitary individual– for it is in the solitary mind and soul that the battle between good and evil is waged and ultimately won or lost._

– _M. Scott Peck_

* * *

Chapter 17; Black Rose 

Hermione awoke early the next morning, despite the fact that she'd had a late night. She was restless, anxious, and felt as if sleep would elude her for eternity. She had no idea what was ailing her, and she was only aware of the fact that she had a Bad Feeling about something. One of those 'Bad' Feelings that you couldn't quite place, yet that nipped at the back of your mind like a hard-to-swat mosquito.

Hermione unfolded the piece of parchment that Dumbledore had given her, and decided that it was as good a time as any to check out the book. _Time Theoretics, by Nicolas Flamel_, she read again. If there was any book in the world that would be able to tell her how to go forward in time, this one was it.

_Do I even want to go forward in time? _She asked herself blatantly. She realized that the answer was a resounding _no. _If Hermione could not live her life with Tom, she saw no point in living her life at all. She reasoned that she still needed to check the book out and try to understand what Dumbledore had been rambling about.

She wandered down to the library, which was, predictably, empty, save Madame Rostam, the current librarian. She gave the note to Madame Rostam (who eyed her suspiciously and stared at the signature), and waited while the librarian retrieved it. When Hermione came back, she was surprised at the book's appearance. She had expected a large, important looking leather bound tome with aged yellow pages and ancient scrolls. Instead, it was a small, concise book that looked unbattered, though yellowed.

Hermione sat back in a comfortable chair, twisting her hair behind her, and nibbling at her lower lip as she rifled through the pages. Finally she came to the _Rumineus Theory_, which had apparently been devised by Nicolas Flamel. The occurrence only took place when the 'bearer' went a great ways back into time. Hermione's eyes widened as she read the writing on the page.

_Going back years in time literally defies its essence. Time was not meant to be manipulated so completely, whereas going back a few hours in Time is reasonable and perhaps more manageable. Going back years is theoretically and mathematically possible, but logically is perhaps impossible. The problem is, modern day wizards have made it possible. The Rumineus Theory is an extremely outlandish occurrence that will never be forced to occur _unless _the bearer goes back years in time._

_Each moment is a doorway to time travel. Being in this very moment and no other, time as we know it stops. You can freeze frame and stop. Then you can make another choice. You can stay in the same holographic pattern, or you can choose a different one._

_In other words, when the bearer travels years and years into the past, the future . . . simply freezes. Everything and everyone in the future freezes for the amount of time that the bearer is in the past. Of course, the people in the future do not realize that they are frozen. Until, and only until, the bearer goes back into the future, does time unfreeze. Time is, fundamentally, waiting for the bearer to return. This is simply because it is not possible to have two coexisting alternate realities so far apart. One must freeze until they are united again._

Hermione's head snapped up. _He's saying that time is frozen in the future until I come back? _If this was the case, she remembered the exact moment that she had used the time-turner. Lord Voldemort had been raising his wand to finish her off. She continued reading.

_Time, however, is a force to be reckoned with. Just as we are not meant to travel too far back, time is not meant to be frozen. From this we can discern that it will not wait long for the traveler to return. After a certain amount of time in the past, the bearer is flung back into the future quite suddenly and unexpectedly. One or two months is the maximum amount of time that can be spent in the past before the Rumineus Theory takes hold. When the bearer returns to the future, time resumes its normal pace. Until that moment, however, the future reality is frozen. Though this has never occurred, it has been theorized that there may be a short time in which the two alternate realities merge. For one moment, people of the past can see into the future. For one moment, people of the future are able to see into the past. Then the two realities separate, and the bearer returns to the future. Finally, the greater will power that the bearer has to remain in the past is closely correlated to how long the bearer will **actually **remain in the past. _

Hermione put the book down with a thud. _If Flamel's theory is correct, I could be flung back into the future at any moment! That must have been what that vision was on the night of the masquerade. I must have almost been flung forward then, but my willpower to stay was too great. _With a sick feeling, she realized that she had arrived September 1st, and it was currently November 2nd. Then again, she _had_ had a strong desire to remain in the past. Even if it had been subconscious at the time, there was a large part of her that had wanted to stay with Tom. More than anything.

Suddenly Dumbledore's words came back to her.

"_Times waits for no man, Miss Nestowe. Do not be so naive to think that it will wait for you."_

_He was warning me! _She realized. _He knew!_

Then, Hermione sat back in her seat and did the thing she was best at. She thought.

The memories flooded into her conscious.

"_Tom . . . if you could go back and change something really, really terrible, would you do it?"_

"_Do not forget, Miss Nestowe, that it is time, the greatest of all elements, that you are attempting to hoodwink . . ."_

"_Although time could be reversed and fast forwarded, there was ultimately no way of changing–"_

"_I'm a firm believer that you can't change time, Hermione . . ."_

_Did I go back in the past because I was unhappy with the future, or was I unhappy with the future because I went back in the past?_

" _. . .Being in this very moment and no other, time as we know it . . . stops. You can freeze frame and stop. Stop. Stop . . . stop . . ."_

"Stop."

She said it aloud as the realization crashed down upon her. It was in that moment that she came to understand everything she had done was terribly, terribly wrong. And now, what would inevitably occur was a horrendous disaster that she had not seen coming. Though, as she looked back, she _should_ have seen it. After all, it had been right in front of her for the majority of her life.

For what she had done in love, she had paid for in righteousness and truth. Love had mutilated her world (their world), beyond any recognition. Here was an incidence where love had not conquered all, it had _destroyed_ all.

And the scariest thing was that if she had known that falling in love with Tom would bring about the ruin of the world, if she had known that the price for loving him would have been destruction and evil, she would not have changed what she had done.

She would not have given up loving him for the world.

Hermione was no Harry Potter, no chivalrous savior, and love had taken hold of her and tainted her as it corrupted so many others.

Love was a beautiful and awful concept, and the most awful thing of all was that no one had control over it. Not Hermione, with all her grace and intelligence. Not Tom, with his control over the _world _and everything in it, everything but the one thing that had _saved_ him.

It would destroy him.

_Tom, _was her next and only thought. She had to get to him somehow, and warn him. She leapt up from her chair, mind still chipping the pieces together. _Why didn't I see it before? At any moment, I may disappear . . ._

She darted out of the library door, hoping beyond hope that it was not already too late.

* * *

Tom stopped abruptly at the side of the lake, and turned onto the garden path. The sun was close to rising above the Forbidden Forest, signifying the start of a new day. He closed his eyes for a moment, listening to the sound of the breeze rustling through the trees. It was a sound he had never previously noticed, much less enjoyed. 

Predawn shadows stretched across the garden, which was bathed in a champagne luminescence. As sunlight touched the petals of the crimson roses with gentle fingers, Tom was struck with an idea.

He carefully broke the stem of a blood red rose and held it in front of him.

"_Carpe Noctum,_" he whispered, with a wave of his wand. The rose instantly transformed. Crimson red faded to midnight black. It was, sensationally, the very color of Tom's eyes. The spell he had performed made the rose everlasting. At least, until he gave it to Hermione. When he gave it to Hermione, the black rose would stay alive for as long as he loved her. The perpetual and unfading midnight rose could gaze directly into his heart, and the moment that he stopped loving her, it would lose strength. Tom was sure that the rose would wilt only on the day that he died.

Footsteps echoed behind him on the barren path, and he whirled around, already certain of who it was.

Sure enough, Hermione stood there, bathed in the pale-golden glow of the rising sun.

"Tom," she whispered, stopping before him, as if it was the most profound word in the world.

Her hair was slightly disheveled, and her cheeks were flushed and pale all at once. Her expression reminded him of a lost child's, as if everything going on around her was too much to take in. He would never forget how she looked in that moment. Soft, like an angel in the sunrise.

She stepped toward him, and gripped his forearms forcefully. He would have hexed anyone else, but this was Hermione, his Hermione.

"Promise me," she choked out, the words like fire in her throat.

"Hermione, what . . ."

"I love you, Tom. But you know that already. You've changed since I met you, and you know that too. Before this, you never loved or laughed or felt. You've become a person. You're emotional and upset and vulnerable and _human. _But you're also stronger, you're so much stronger than I could ever be . . ." she cut herself off as she realized she was babbling.

"I want you to _promise _me. Promise me that if something ever happened to me, you would go on living, and loving. Promise me, promise me that you will never be bitter or vengeful or angry. There are more _good _people in this world than me."

Tom stared at her. What was she trying to say?

"But, Hermione, you're the _only _thing in this world that matters to me–"

"No!" she screamed, wrenching away as if his skin burnt her fingers. His mouth dropped open in surprise.

"Please, Tom," she begged, nearly hysterical. "Please. I want you to give this world a chance, even though it has not given you one. I want you to give this world a chance for redemption. Promise me, Tom, that you will not turn your back on those who have turned their backs on you."

"I don't know what you mean," he said quietly, his concern growing with every passing second.

"I mean _just _that. Not everything is evil, is terrible, is cruel. If you lose me, you haven't lost everything. That's the second reason I came, to say goodb–"

"Why are you ranting about me losing you, Hermione? I'll hold on to you and never, _ever _let go if _that's what it takes _to keep you here!"

He was yelling, hysterical himself, as panic rose within him.

"I wasn't strong enough to save you," she said, and an expression came over her face so anguished and heartbroken that he felt as if her soul was laid open for him to see, as if he was driving a stake through it by looking at her. "I'm so sorry, Tom. Love wasn't strong enough to save you. Now all that you can do is try to save yourself."

He chose that moment to thrust the rose into her hands, half because he never wanted to talk to her again, and half because he subconsciously sensed the urgency of the situation.

Hermione looked down as the rose in her hand. It was a black like she had never seen, and had a dark, enigmatic air about it. The very air around seemed to sparkle with forbidden beauty and alluring depth. It was just the color of Tom's eyes.

"I don't know what you're talking about," Tom said in low voice, then paused. "I don't know all that _much _about you, like where you're from or why you're here or what you're playing at."

He stared at her, silently, then spoke. He seemed on the verge of hysterics.

"But I _do_ know that the rose you're holding won't wilt until the day I stop loving you, and that'll be the _day I die. _That, I know . . . it's all I need to know, Hermione."

He met her eyes imploringly, and all of her resolve melted. She launched herself into his arms, the rose still clutched firmly in her right hand.

Though their love would inevitably destroy countless thousands, Hermione refused to believe that love in itself was wrong. She refused to believe that love as a principle was unethical, though it would take Tom to the point of no return. In that moment, their love was poetic and unstoppable. She never let go of him.

They were as close as two people could be, yet were separated by decade upon decade, by choice and destiny, by light and dark. And even as Tom held her to him, breathing in the smell of her hair and savoring the touch of her skin, even as he loved her with all of his heart, she was slipping away. Her image was flickering like a candle in the wind, and for a moment she was in neither future nor past. Then Tom saw her eyes widen, as if seeing a danger that was not there, and then there was a flash of green light, and a cold laugh that sounded vaguely familiar to Tom.

And then, she was gone.

Tom still had his arms wrapped around her, except that she was not there. The warmth of her skin lingered for another moment and then disappeared as if never having existed at all. He still heard the way she breathed, though in the garden there was only dead silence. There was something incredibly _gone _about her, something that told him she would never, ever come back. Tom knew because a place inside of him was suddenly completely empty, or a degree farther than empty. The spot where she had been was like a black hole, sucking in and destroying everything around it.

As the sun finally made its way over the horizon, a boy in a rose garden dropped to his knees in despair. And the saddest thing was not that he was crying and he did not know it. The saddest thing was that Hermione, _his _Hermione, was not there to wipe the tears away.

She never would be.

* * *

Tom did not know exactly how he found himself in Dumbledore's office a few hours later. Perhaps it was the fact that Dumbledore was the only man in the world that would possibly have any idea what had happened to her. 

"Mr. Riddle . . . you say you saw her disappear with a flash of green light, and you heard laughter?"

"Yes," Tom said blankly. The black hole where his heart had once been had sucked him into an empty shell. Nothing remained.

"Then I fear that the worst occurred. You may be surprised to find out that Miss Nestowe was a time traveler, Mr. Riddle. She was from the future."

Tom's head came slowly up at this. _The future? How is it possible?_

Dumbledore continued, "I'm sure you've learned from your studies that nothing like this has ever occurred. I believe that she was blasted into the future unexpectedly, and the flash of green light represented the Killing Curse. The fact is, someone murdered her in the future, Mr. Riddle. I do not know who it was, or why, but from your evidence we can discern that she is dead."

_Dead. _The word rang through Tom's hollow brain like a gong sounding. He recalled that there was something disconcerting about the laugh that he had heard, something chilling and haunting and unusual, though he could out his finger on what it was.

Dumbledore sighed. "I wish that there was a way to prevent her murder, but . . . it is not wise to meddle in the dealings of time." He paused there, contemplating. "I regret not taking the time to interrogate her more persistently."

_Someone murdered her, _Tom thought blankly.

In the years to come, he would strive relentlessly for anything that could turn back time, that could save Hermione's life, and bring her back to him. He experimented with the Dark Arts, convinced that if he became skilled enough with them that he could defy death itself. But it was of no use. He was the most powerful wizard of his time, and had accomplished things that ordinary men would never dream of, but would never manage to bring back the one thing that mattered most of all.

He did not know who had murdered her, but he knew that for this man he felt something so far beyond hate that it was a freezing, burning entity in the pit of his stomach. In that moment Tom made a promise so strong that he knew it could never be broken.

_I will kill him. I will kill whoever it was that caused her to die right in my arms. I will kill him if it is the last thing I do._

And then, Tom was done. He was done with sympathy and he was done with empathy and he was done with caring.

_I love you. _

He had never said it to her, but he had felt it. He had adored her beyond all rationality.

Tom's love for her had not saved him. It had destroyed him.

Hermione was the only thing that he had cared about, and she was also the only thing he had lost. It was different from his parents, because he had never had parents in the first place. But he had had her.

And he had lost her.

"Are you feeling okay, Mr. Riddle?" Dumbledore asked, peering across at him.

The truth was, Tom was not okay. He would never be okay again.

Before he had been drawn into this most beautiful nightmare, this most tragic illusion, this most haunting and compelling dream, it stood true that his heart had been a chip of ice, a block of granite, as frozen and solid as onyx. He had given his entire heart to her, at last coming to the realization that he did not have to be afraid.

His heart was frozen no longer, but this was not from healing. He simply did not know where it had gone.

She had taken his heart away.

She had proven to him once and for all something he had always been on the brink of believing. Love was a weakness, simple as that.

And Tom Riddle did not tolerate weakness.

Dumbledore would never forget when Tom looked up at him that day. His eyes were haunted, inhuman, and . . . were they, perhaps, red? But . . . no . . . a trick of the light, nothing more. Dumbledore did not need an answer to his question after that. Tom was so far gone that he would never come back. He had snapped.

He had gone from having a frozen heart to lacking a heart all together, from creating to destroying, from being afraid of love to being _incapable _of love.

Here was a human who had become inhuman, whose soul was scarred so badly that he would never again think twice about murdering or torturing or destroying.

Here was a man who had discovered hope and joy and laughter, only to have lost it in the span of a heartbeat.

And so rose the Great Lord Voldemort.

((A.N. It is not over. I repeat, the story is not over, so hang in there. Yeah, that means you, Jay Ficlover. I seriously cried while writing this scene. I want to get some theories on how this all plays into the future, though. Hints have been dropped. Review. :D))


	19. The Beginning

((A.N. Chapter 18, the last chapter. Wow, that's really depressing to think about. I love this story so much. But! If you liked this fic, then add me to your Alert List so you know when my new fic, **Somewhere I Have Never Traveled, **comes out.I think it's gonna be even better than this one. I really appreciate all the reviews you guys have given me. I'd especially like to thank those of you who have been with me from the beginning(**Black-rose23! Spirit Well! Tears-That-Fall! Loriliant! ramones4me! Lady Moofin! Kou Shun'u! EuphoniumGurl0**(the _very_ beginning! ;D)And a lot more of you! **Amerise Rei, **probably my smartest reviewer. **IceHeart161, **my funniest reviewer. **Jay Ficlover, **definitelythe most imaginative reviewer! **Oliver's Quidditch Crazy, **just because. **Le Saut de l'Ange, **for translating this story into French. And _all _the rest of you, who are **An Anti-Sheep Cheese Muffin, Sarcastic Capricorn, whogirl, CareBearErin, The Anti-Romantic, Slytherinstargazing, CountessMel, Euphonium Girl **(are you learning a foreign language? Because your reviews have been steadily reduced to absolute gibberish:D), **donoma, charmorrobaby, haiga, Anuksumamum-Kalia, UNOWEN, Jolena **(very good theories), **steffy-potter, ObsidianEyes666, hpfanf, iHARTu, BIGHARRYFAN, Hannah-yo, Belle Lamour, cocvanilla, JamieGirl, Duja **(Brilliant! you got almost all of it), **Tween Idol, Avanell, Nathonea **(Yeah. It is.), **kittykatekat, stargazer starluver, BabyGooGoo2, blaiselover, Charming-Lynn, gATITABella, vla 1 diva, Loony Ferret, spicysuga, just reading, enchanted light, Pandora, LilytheSpitFire, irishpirates **(that concept is exactly what I'm getting at), **Phaet, silver gaze, Jess, Kerrie-A, Jay Ficlover **(Much as I love and adore and cherish all of my reviews, I wouldn't never change my plot because of one. ;D), **Aritocratic Assassin, hewhoistomriddle, msq91029, KyootNShort, Emma, bIsHiE-hUnTa, Mustangchic, Eccentrically Yours, DarkYuke, Salt in Your Wounds, Mikki, bubble gum girl, tickle the dragon, **and **SaTiNk06. **And **Drama Shethan, **my beta, I owe you everything. My poor readers, though. :( I think some of you took it the wrong way when I told you that the fic wasn't over. I want everyone reading, even those of you who have been silent readers up until now, to tell me what you think. I love you guys and hope you read my next story. Enjoy the end of this one.))

* * *

_Imperfect cry, and scream in ecstacy_

_But what befalls the flawless?_

_The love I've built _

_It shines so beautifully_

_Now watch as it **destroys me.**_

_Break down, and cease all feeling_

_Burn, now, what was once breathing_

_Reach out,_

_And you may **take my heart away**._

_

* * *

_

Chapter 18; The Beginning

Epilogue: _50 years later . . ._

He had finally achieved it. The murder of Harry Potter. Voldemort stood triumphantly in the empty clearing, savouring the accomplishment of killing his only opposition.

But what was this?

Movement, it seemed, a tiny gasp to his left. He turned to face the only human that was alive in the clearing.

"Ah, the filthy Muggleborn that Potter adored so much," he spat.

There was a slight gasp, and a pause.

"Pity . . . I don't even know your name," he whispered with a terrible smile. All he could see through the mist was a silhouette of a female figure, sprawled helplessly on the floor of the clearing. Her name was Harriet or Helga or something horrid like that, and he would kill her quickly. He raised his wand.

Freeze. Unfreeze.

A moment too late, he caught sight of her face, and simultaneously remembered the name _Hermione. _But already the spell flew through the air, its deadly green light illuminating the clearing.

In slow motion she fell, a graceful phantom in the darkness of eternity. As she hit the ground, Voldemort noticed an object clasped tightly in her right hand. It was a jet black rose, and it had not wilted. After fifty years, or one moment, depending on how you looked at it, the rose was in full bloom, healthy and vigorous as it had been the moment seventeen-year-old Tom had given it to her.

_I killed her, _he realized quite suddenly. _I was the murderer._

And at last, the greatest realization of all. _He had heard his own laughter._

Tom laughed, a chilling and bloodcurdling and ruthless laugh, but not because he was amused. He laughed because he finally understood.

Tom observed the profound irony of the situation. Hermione had gone back in time to kill him, but instead had fallen in love with him. Tom had loved her with all of his heart, and then she had disappeared. Because of that, he had become Lord Voldemort, which in turn led to him killing Harry Potter, and at last, to killing her. It was like a huge chain linked circle. Could any part of the chain be broken?

Hermione, in her last moments of living, had understood the seriousness of what she had done. She had single-handedly created the monster that was Lord Voldemort. Then again, Lord Voldemort had existed long before she had even been to Hogwarts, or obtained the time turner. How could she be responsible for creating a man that existed before she had been born?

Falling in love with Tom had ruined every ideal that their society had strived for. And yet it had been inevitable. She had created a monster. How could something as beautiful as love twist a man into the thing Lord Voldemort had become?

There was only one explanation for the course of events that had passed. It was the one tragic truth that the human race had yet to understand. This truth had changed the course of history, and at the same time kept it from changing at all. Hermione had been _meant _to travel back in time to meet Tom. Similarly, Tom had been _meant _to become Lord Voldemort. As Tom had once unknowingly stated, it was all part of a huge, predestined pattern. Hermione had changed the future into what she had already known it to be.

Fate, and destiny. Few believed in these abstract terms, and fewer still knew how to deal with the repercussions of them. But what it came down to was that changing what had been written in the stars was impossible.

In the end, we _are_ who we were always meant to be. The choices we make do not alter our destiny; destiny alters the choices we make.

Voldemort realized this, and noted that he had been correct, when, at the age of twelve, he had believed his whole life was already planned out for him.

At that moment the last human feeling left his body.

_I will kill him. I will kill whoever it was that caused her to die right in my arms. I will kill him if it is the last thing I do._

Tom Riddle would kill Lord Voldemort, and it _would_ be the last thing he did. He hated himself more than the whole rest of the world hated him, and that was a tremendous feat.

Tom Riddle, Voldemort, the Dark Lord, turned his wand on himself and performed the Killing Curse without a second thought.

Later it would be written that Harry Potter and Voldemort had dueled so fiercely that they had killed one another and everyone around them. No one would know the truth, and this was that Voldemort had killed himself out of _love, _an emotion that people underestimate time and time again.

When the morning mist in the forest vanished and the sun rose again, it would look to many as if nothing alive was left in the clearing. But clutched tightly in Hermione's lifeless hand was the jet-black rose that was just the color of Tom's eyes.

Even in his death, the rose had still not wilted.


End file.
